


Good luck, Clarke!

by Memnoch



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Goodluck chuck parody, borrowed couples from another fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-23 14:38:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7467201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Memnoch/pseuds/Memnoch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She thinks Raven's list of people she kissed, magically bumped and found their trueloves after making out with Clarke, is insane. So what if they found their partners and it's not her. She's young, single and independent. She can be single until she can figure out what she wants, so carpe fucking diem!</p><p>Until of course she hits on this woman, which she can debate she really pull a smooth move only to be turned down by really hot skirt and heels she devil. Said she devil who is also her boss.</p><p>Her boss, who looks like a gorgeous mess before and after orgasm. Her boss who looks at her so adoringly post coital that she almost kissed her. But Raven's voice rings into her ears. If you kiss er you lose er..</p><p>So finds a way to avoid Lexa's pink plump teasing lips.</p><p>Plot twist: no one resists a mistletoe kiss.</p><p>The fic that fics Goodluck Chuck in CLEXAVERSE</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Call me maybe

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer : These characters are not mine, and this story is a work of fiction with the sole purpose of entertainment only. 
> 
> Any names, events, public landmarks or identifyibg substance of this story are works of fiction and do not relate to any of the mentioned. 
> 
> The story may contain sexual and explicit interactions that are not suitable for minors, read at your own risk. 
> 
> Additional disclaimer: just chill and have fun with this fic. we gain nothing but clexa fun in this, right? 
> 
> p.s ELIZA TAYLOR is awesome! 
> 
> Have fun!

 

Hey, i just met you

and this is crazy but here's my call me maybe?

 

                                                                          XOXO

 

_DUMDUMBADUDUMDUM BADUDUMMMMM_

 

Anya`s ringing tone echoes inside the still empty walls of her apartment. She moved almost a week ago but all that she was able to unpack was her tea set. In her defense she was barely at home, in between meeting with her brother for the proper turn over of the company to spending time with Anya and Aden. She missed their faces, in the flesh. Well, Aden the most because Anya was just being ridiculously annoying. But now that they`re an arm stretch away, even for a short stay only, she`ll use all her vacant time to spend it with her favorite cousin and her brother. (Don`t let tell Anya of the favorite part, it will only inflate her ego)

 

Lexa declined the call for the nth time but read Anya`s messages, informing her of her 9:45 with her father, she`s usually prompt and punctual but the prospect of meeting her father isn`t something she always look forward to. 

 

She turned to her right where her alarm clock say 8:45 AM and groans, well, it`s just a day, she can hold her breath for a day to meet with her father and not die. Right? Right??

 

She spend most of her adult life trying to dodge his father and yet she still manage to land in his grasp. She was living in peace, away from the hassle of her family, but she had to come back after years of running away from the Van der Woods` because Aden, their youngest brother is going to be sent to a boarding school, now that his father and Aden`s mother are divorced. And he pleaded to her day and night via Skype calls and emails, she made a promise to Aden before she left to travel Europe, that if his mom and their dad are ever to divorce, (their father have a trail of divorce papers) she promised Aden that she would take him. The boy was eight, how would she know that he`ll never forget that pact they made after five years? 

 

With the help of Serena, their eldest sister, she moved back to the states and spoke to her father formally to ask for Aden`s guardianship. He agreed, and she blinked maybe a few hundred times before he gave her his conditions. One that she stay in the states and take over one of their family owned businesses, which makes sense since in order for her to get the guardianship of Aden she needed a stable job. His second condition is that Aden will not leave the country to study abroad until he needs to go to college. 

 

She thinks those are agreeable conditions. 

 

As long as he have less control of their lives, it`s agreeable to her. That is how she get to where she is now, apartment an hour away from her father`s estate and five minutes to the building where she needs to work. Serena made arrangements for her things to be transferred over from their shared apartment in Paris to her new apartment and yet she haven`t unpacked her things, except the contents of her three huge luggage from last week when she arrived. 

 

By 9:15, Lexa is all dressed up in a pencil skirt and crisp shirt under a work casual blazer (she carefully removed the tags, obviously Serena went over board and she had to make sure Lexa have formal work clothes, nope jeans and casual shirts won`t do, especially under their father`s scrutinizing eyes), which, thank god for her sister, but really no thanks when she pulled a five inch heels, WTF is on Serena`s mind when she packed this stuff? 

 

She can feel her heart at her throat already, she needed to calm down before she throws up in front of Alexander. She can make her tea arrangement but she doesn`t have a to go cup. The best bet is that cafe two blocks from Metropolis Tech building. She`ll take her chances. 

 

                                                                   xoxo

 

 

Clarke Griffin`s first mistake of the day is getting coffee. For one thing, she is running late. Sixteen minutes late, which she isn’t counting because she no longer has her father watch – and would rather not have any if it wasn`t his watch - but Octavia Blake is counting for her, by sending text messages every sixty five seconds of increasing numerals. Being on time for things is not Clarke’s strong point, but it’s not like she’s been fired yet, right? Right? This cafe happens to be the closest one to the office, which is why pure desperation drove her to this line, but it’s also the coffee shop that happens to employ the crabbiest baristas. So in the case of a power-heeled pencil-skirted handbag-swinging lady pointing out to said crabbiest baristas that this is not her order – which is a really confusing combination of jasmine and green tea with a pump of hazel and mint syrup and stirred in a really ridiculous way, and she asked for it extra hot, like who drinks extra hot tea? You are meant to make tea, then forget you made tea until it freezes cold, then you drink it, who drinks extra hot tea, really???

 

The wait will take that much longer. Grumpy, who is mercilessly chewing on his gum during this episode, points at the sign on the counter. The sign reads NO REFUNDS. She of the pencil skirt and power heels seems to find this unacceptable, or at least the posturing of her backside reads that way. Clarke decides that focusing so intently on the shape of this backside is probably rude, but damn, for all her high maintenance java needs, this woman is bangin’. And legs for days

 

“This is unacceptable,” Heels and Skirt says, and then she sweeps her gaze around the shop in search of, if Clarke would guess, a manager. She briefly forgets what she came here to order when she sees her face, specifically those eyes and that pump lips.

  
“Not my problem,” says Grumpy Barista. She turns to Clarke, who is next in line, snapping her gum expectantly. “What can I get you?”

  
“Uh, I’ll just have--”

  
“Excuse me,” Heels, Skirt, Pouty Lips & Co. interrupts, hands spread indignantly.  
“I’m not asking for a refund, I’m asking for my correct order.”

Grumpy Barista blinks. This job is obviously not worth whatever fraction of acting school it currently funds.“Refunds, returns, it’s all the same.”

  
“Unbelievable.” The woman has now set the take out cup back on the counter. “Is this what passes for customer service in this establishment?” The ever-lengthening line has their own opinions about this situation, as assessed from their frequent grumbling and shuffling.

  
“Hey lady,” someone shouts from the back. “There’s a fucking Starbucks across the street.”

  
Clarke is not entirely sure she didn’t just see lasers fly out of this woman’s eyeballs and strike that opinion-sharer in his testicles. Surly Barista turns back to Clarke. “Next,” she announces flatly, ignoring Heels, Skirt, Pouty Lips, and the actual face of irritation.

  
“Can I get a double shot and, uh...” Clarke glances over at the irate woman, decides to try because she’s an idiot but she’s a nice idiot. And maybe a flirtatious idiot. “A jasmine and green tea with a pump each of hazel and mint syrup, right?” Those bartending and coffee shop part time jobs are paying off now but, still this turns out to be her second mistake of the day. The woman doesn’t seem to know how to react to this gesture. She pushes hair behind her ear, as if attempting composure.

  
“You don’t need to--”

  
“No, it’s fine.” Clarke nods at Grumpy. “Get it right this time.” Grumpy rolls her eyes.

  
“Whatever,” he says, ringing her up. “You all lined up here despite the 1 star rating on Yelp.” She hands Clarke her change. “Your funeral.”

“That was not necessary,” hisses Heels, Skirt, Pouty Lips & angry face.She is now angrily going through her wallet, pulling out cash.

Clarke shakes her head. “Neither is paying me.”

  
Ms. Heels, Skirt, Pouty Lips & Sexy eyes looks up from her bag, narrowing her eyes. “Sorry?”

  
“I’ll chalk it up as an I Owe You.” Clarke pulls out her business card in a smooth gesture she has only practiced one or thirty times. She winks. “You just give me a call when you feel like returning the favor.” She beamed golden like it was a super genius idea. Pretty sure my middle name is Smooth.

 

The woman continues to stare suspiciously at Clarke as if she were in fact a bag of snakes in a darkened closet. When she reads the business card, her eyes widen for a moment, she lets out a laugh that is not entirely...friendly? Nice? And then this happens:  
“You’re hitting on me,” she says, a fact, not a question, and raises one perfect eyebrow. She looks simultaneously unimpressed and flustered by the situation. Dunno which one is better for her trampled ego.

 

“I mean...uh...” This was really not what Clarke was expecting. She reacts like a shorted android. “Yes? I’m...sorry? I think.”

The woman holds up Clarke`s business card as if handling a biohazard. “Is this really yours?”

  
“Well, yeah. I dont make a habit of giving out other people's business card” Clarke isn’t sure whether to laugh or be extremely defensive. “Are you implying that I stole some bloke`s business credentials and am using it to pick up women? That’s...that’s not even logical.”

  
“Absolutely believable,” the woman mutters, and then leaves. She leaves! The lady hath fucking departed. This is not a drill, because Extremely Attractive But Definitely A Bitch leaves the café. She spins on her power heel and she power heels on out of there, pencil-skirt-hugging hips switching like perfectly rounded knives through the door. In any other less frigid social situation, Clarke would be reminded of the popular hip-hop statement, 'I hate to see her go, but I love to watch her leave.' Instead,

Clarke is standing there with her mouth agape, Grumpy #2 depositing two takeout coffee cups into her open hands. She can’t remember what to

a) do with the coffee or

b) why she was handed them in the first place.

Grumpy #2 looks at Grumpy #1 and they shake their heads in pity.

"Fuck Mondays," says Grumpy #2, possibly a sympathetic gesture, definitely the best attempt at customer service Clarke’s going to witness in this misery shack.

 

But really, fuck Mondays. When Clarke finally drops herself into her cubicle at 10:01 AM, Raven is already leaning over the wall.

 

  
                                                                   ****

 

“The fuck were you? The fuck is that?” The answer to the first question is attempting to buy a drink, a fucking tea, for a She-Demon. The answer to the second question is said She-Demon’s said drink. But Clarke is still not quite at the point of being able to articulate herself, so she shakes her head, grunts, and sets both drinks on her desk.

“Well, Titus wants to see you. I told him you were late because you were performing charitable acts at a children’s hospital.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding.” Raven rolls her eyes, sipping a coffee while still dangling over the cubicle divide.

  
“Wow, sorry for attempting to promote your golden reputation, Griffers. Next time I’ll just tell him you’re choking puppies in a dumpster.”

  
“There are days when choking puppies in a dumpster would be less miserable than this job.” Raven holds up her free hand for a high-five.

  
“Amen, sister.”

.

.

.

Titus corner office is only a few paces from Clarke’s desk, but he has a tendency to keep his blinds closed. The rest of the office believes this is because he is actually a reptilian creature who loathes the artificial light. In reality, it’s probably because he likes his privacy and is not-so-secretly dating last year’s intern, the Canadian girl who kept her own letter opener set on her desk. Clarke pretends she and her colleagues don’t know this as she sits across from him, smiling the way she imagines a very responsible and committed employee would smile.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Archibald?”

  
“Actually, Dr. Griffin, it’s what I can do for you.” Titus Archibald leans forward, adjusting his tie with an unplaceable grin.

  
“You’re a team leader, Griffin. You bring in the numbers and your colleagues love you. You’re really going places.” This is not entirely true. In fact, it seems like a pretty blatant fabrication of the truth, which is that Clarke deeply resents her job selling computers to corporate accounts, and only seems capable of leading her team when it’s their Friday night beer pong tournaments at Monty’s. When someone says she’s going places, the place they typically mean is Hell. But maybe that’s just the angry Evangelicals who skulk outside the gay club, who knows.

  
“Um, thanks, Mr. Archibald.” Clarke keeps on smiling.

  
“I’m just doing what I do and, uh, all that.”

  
“Just keep up that good work, Griffin.” He waggles his eyebrow, a gesture she is not entirely sure isn’t weird.

  
“Listen, I’m going to be straight with you: the board wants an exemplary employee from each department to send to our upcoming corporate retreat. I knew as soon as the memo who I was going to pick. Someone truly worthy of the opportunity.”

  
Clarke coughs. “Me?”

  
“Actually, Artigas from Team 4, but he’s going to Florida that weekend.”

  
“So I was second choice?”

  
“Well, Quint was second choice. Turns out he and my five other top picks are also going to Florida, talk about coincidence. Apparently they do this every year, some kind of ‘Boy’s Trip’. One of those things where they drink a lot and oil each other’s muscles or something, not sure. But hey, guess who the eighth best employee in my department is?” Mr. Archibald reaches across to shake her hand. “Please tell me you’re not going to Florida next month.”

  
“Not as far as I know.”

  
“Fantastic, that’s a relief. Seriously, can you imagine if I had to send Reyes? That girl got stuck in the fax machine twice this month. How does anyone do that twice?”

  
“It’s still better than when Quint put his dick in the--”

  
“I’ll forward you all the details this afternoon. You’re the best, Griffin.”

  
“Eighth best.” Titus smiled. “Don’t sell yourself short, Griffin.”

  
“I mean, technically you were the one who --”

  
“And don’t forget that meeting this afternoon. I think you’ll find the new executive director very impressive.” Titus winks.

  
“We take positive female role models in positions of power very seriously.”

 

                                                                   ****

  
So the fourth mistake she makes that day involves a meeting. The meeting, as it turns out, probably should have been paying attention to the emails. Or when Octavia met her at the second floor cooler to tell her about her extremely vanilla date with the extremely vanilla Lincoln - luckily, the extremely vanilla Octavia’s type is also extremely vanilla , they are really so fucking vanilla - and said she’d see her at the meeting. In her mind, she was processing the word meeting. She just wasn’t processing the word meeting. And when she says she’s going out to get coffee, and Raven says to make sure she gets back in time for the meeting, for whatever reason she does not register the meeting. Again. Or ever. Clarke shows up late with Starbucks in one hand and a donut between her teeth. She opens the door to Conference Room 3, the largest conference room, and assumes she will be able to sneak down into the back unnoticed. These are typically old-white-dude-in-a-suit announcements anyway, so it’s not a huge deal. The second she steps into the back of the conference room, there is an audible silence. The woman at the front of the room is wearing a very familiar pencil skirt. Her lips that were previously smiling immediately reform into a frown of disapproval. And while everyone is turned to look at her, obnoxious coffee in hand, chocolate glazed donut in mouth, Clarke recognizes that this new executive director is in fact the woman from the morning. She also takes this opportunity to audibly groan and forget to not state her feelings out loud:

_Oh, fuck._

  
The woman glances down at a clipboard, and then pulls a familiar business card from her pocket.

  
“Dr. Griffin, is it? Thank you for joining us. While I appreciate having open dialogues with my employees, I’ve already advised everyone to hold their comments and questions until we finish. I’m not sure if what you just said was a comment or question, but please restrain yourself from further cursing until I’m done.”

  
At the other side of the room, Raven is making frantic slashing and stabbing gestures at her throat with her pen. Titus eyes are the size of saucers. Clarke decides now is as good a time as ever to leap from the conference room window and disappear forever into the abyss of humiliation and raw human shame. So, Ms. Long Legs and Brooding is actually Alexandria van der Woods, the new Executive Director of Metropolis Tech. Right. Great, really fucking great. This is what you get for doing the nice thing, Clarke thinks. You do that whole Pay It Forward bullshit - you buy a lady some coffee and you pretend like it isn’t totally motivated by how she looks in a pencil skirt - and she goes and insults your business card and turns out to be your company’s new Executive Director. Real fucking cute. From now on, she is drinking tea.

 

She had half a mind to call her mother and ask the Chief medical officer of Metropolis Medical for a transfer, even if it means working under her mother.

 

                                                               


	2. Gravity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set me free,  
> Leave me be.  
> I don't wanna fall another moment into your gravity  
> Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I'm supposed to be.  
> But you're on to me and all over me.

She`s going crazy “What in the five kinds of fuck was that about?”

 

Clarke really doesn’t have time to relate this long story, because she is power-walking to the elevators, attempting to leave Raven and her fellow employees in the dust. Her current plan for the rest of the afternoon is to hide in a bathroom stall and hope an apocalypse wipes out the office, giving her less witness to the memory of this horrible, horrible event. Of course, her plan is foiled by the fact that Raven is impressively fast on her feet for someone wielding a laptop in heels.

 

Clarke frantically presses the elevator button, jumping into the car when the doors open.“You know, it’s a really long story--”

Raven slips into the elevator beside her, immediately closing the doors behind them. She proceeds to press every button from Floor 2 to Floor 9. “Oh, you’ve got time.”

.

.

.

That how she ended up with “And then I was like, well, you can pay me back with a favor of your own some time.”

“Please tell me you didn’t pull the fucking business card trick.” Raven snorted.

“Okay, first of all--”

“Griffster, guess what isn’t cool? Pulling out a business card and using it as a flirtation technique.” Raven wiggles her pointer finger at her like a five year with a hand in the cookie jar.

“Yes, it is! I was really suave about it. Handing out a business card tells a girl I’ve got a job, and my job is stable enough that someone would give me business cards. Girls love job stability, that shit is hot. Panties are heartily discarded when I hand over a business card. I`m a doctor. In a big ass pharmaceutical research company! I`m basically a genius scientist! That shit is worth bragging.” Not breaking for air.

 

“Right, and then she reads it and finds out you’re an employee to her newly acquired company. One of her companies, by the way.”

“Do you think that’s why she turned me down? Because I`m her employee? Because we can totes keep it a secret.”

“I think she turned you down because you are shit at flirting and probably seemed deranged.”

“I’m not shit at flirting.”

“Cossima in accounting definitely thinks so.”

“Well, Cossima in accounting has like seven cats that she did not mention until after our second date. What does that say about a person?”

“Probably about the same as someone handing out business cards to get laid.”

“Excuse me for trying to streamline the process of exchanging digits. I didn’t realize I was committing a social crime far worse than hiding the fact you hoard animals from your date.”

“Her Skype name is immapuddytat. How the hell was this a surprise to you?”

“I just thought when she was talking about ‘all her boys’, she meant all the boyfriends she was currently juggling.”

“You were on a date with her. A gay date. Anyway she's marrying this french chick. Something Fancy Mcfancypants from Neolotion Tech solutions."

“I don’t assume shit about people’s sexuality, dude. Also straight girls are my kryptonite, you know that. She keeps mentioning all these boys she’s taking care of and I was like oh shit, we got a premium level straight over here. I was beyond help at that point.”

“Beyond help? Honey, you’re beyond fucking hope at this point. Hey remember that time when you and O like made out back in college? And then he met Linc next day at the fair?" 

"Huh"

"Tsk tsk tsk. Emily Fields! Remember that time we went to the varsity swimming team victory party? This brunette chick was clinging to you like Koala and then next day, bam! She calls her best friend and confessed her unrequited love since middle school. Well she and Alison are moms now. 7 years and going strong." 

 

“ You're so not helping, So should I just hand in my notice tomorrow? Is there any way I can recover from this? I mean, I definitely have to spend the rest of my time here actively avoiding her, and definitely not going to the top floor, and definitely skipping all meetings, just in case she’s there, and--”

“I’m not gonna say you’re not fucked. You are definitely fucked.”

“Ugh, I know. I really know.”

“But, hey. Hang on. You could probably get away with never seeing her again. I mean, the executive people are never in the office anyway, and even when they are, it’s not like we’re on the same floor. What are the chances you are going to run into this lady before everyone’s forgotten what happened?”

"Ugh..."

"Hey look, just you know, make out with her it works every time." 

 

"What?! You want me to die? So much for being my best friend."

"Idiot! That's what I've been saying. Kiss er and lose er. After you kissed all those women I mentioned-- Octavia, Cossima, and Emily... They found their trueloves the next day. So kiss the hell out of the boss and get rid of her."

That's ridiculous! 

.

.

.

Really fucking good, it turns out Clarke somehow gets through the rest of the day, not without a number of Skype messages from Raven that are just alternating gifs of cats and lesbian porn, and a particularly concerned email from Octavia up in HR, telling her that if she needs a fake doctor’s note to get out of work for the week, O will have her back. Great. It’s officially been a crisis. So when Clarke finally bolts out of the office at 5:29 PM, not showing her ID pass to security so much as slamming it dramatically against the glass window of their booth, she thinks the crisis is over. Shirt untucked, leather jacket on, she slides onto an empty seat on the subway train and starts concentrating on the bottle of tequila awaiting her at home. Oh, beautiful tequila, sweet señorita of my heart--And that’s when she glances down the train only to see an extremely familiar outline at the front of the car.

“Shit, fuck. Fuckity fuck.”

As this is the subway, no one seems particularly phased by Clarke cursing out loud for the umpteenth time that day, Alexandria van der Woods included. She hasn’t noticed Clarke, and seems consumed in her iPad, luckily for our heroine and her sputtering misery. Clarke scrambles to pull the collar of her leather jacket higher, pushing her hair across her face in a move that probably makes her look insane. She will take insane over incurring the wrath of fate. Just stay cool, Clarke. She’ll get off the train in a bit anyway. It’s not like she’s staying on until your stop. Broody McSexy stays on until Clarke’s stop. In fact, to make matters considerably worse, she stands up as soon as Clarke stands up. Clarke makes a desperate maneuver towards the other door, managing to shove an elderly man and pregnant woman out of the way in the process. Officially the newly christened enemy of this subway car, she just about sprints towards the escalators. Because at the very least, it’s not like Broody McSexy is heading to the same exit, right?

“Oh, fuck me sideways.” This out of Clarke’s mouth when she gets to the intersection and sees Broody McSexy also approaching the intersection. Once again, she attempts to use a combination of her hair, her jacket, and ducking behind a family of tourists to hide from the sight of her executive director. If this didn’t work, she wouldn’t know, because as soon as the light turns green, she’s power walking down that crosswalk like a champ. She rounds the corner and keeps up the pace for five blocks, until she slows in front of a church and takes a breather. After what she considers a thorough check around her, it seems she’s officially lost Broody McSexy.

“This is normal,” she says to the pigeon staring her down from the church steps.

“Literally running away from a woman who laughed at your advances is totally normal.” The pigeon seems unimpressed. This reminds her of Broody McSexy, which causes her to get agitated again.

“You’re not cute,” she says, accusatory finger pointing at the beady-eyed bastard.

“Coo,” says the pigeon, because it’s a pigeon.

She stops into the market a few blocks from her house. She has decided that it will take a lot more carbs and alcohol to deal with the day. Like, maybe three frozen pizzas and another bottle of wine level of dealing with the deal.

“Jesus tapdancing christ!”

The nearest market employee turns from his inventory of the shelf, blinking. “Uh, can I help you?”

“Hide me,” Clarke hisses and swivels behind him, pressing herself against the wall. “Can you do me a favor and confirm that I am not hallucinating?” The kid sighs, looking between his scanner and Clarke, seeming to decide that this insane chick is more interesting than counting cereal boxes.

“I guess.”

“On the other end of the aisle, do you see a lady in a pencil skirt? Insanely sexy legs, brooding glare and pouty lips?” she really didn’t want to sound like she objectifying the brunette but… The kid looks down the aisle, blinks slowly, and then turns back to Clarke, still crouched behind him.

“Um, yes?”

“Shit.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s a horrible thing.”

“It’s probably good you’re not hallucinating, though.”

“I would rather be seeing a mirage at this point. Where is your liquor aisle?”

“Uh,” the kid seems rightfully hesitant to give her this information, but he gestures in the opposite direction of Broody McSexy, basket in arm with two liters of soy milk and is currently browsing different kind of green vegetables like there`s any difference at all, seemingly unaware of Clarke, who has now tucked herself behind a display.

“Aisle five.”

“You’re a champ,” she says, holding up her hand for a high five. He reluctantly high fives back. Clarke now has the difficult task of exiting this very small grocery store without being seen by her executive director. After a fruitful detour in the liquor aisle, she goes into stealth mode, managing to keep just out of the brunette’s line of sight on the way to the checkout line. Of course, somewhere in between produce and dairy, the brunette appears in front of the bananas, looks up at Clarke, and does a double take.

Fucking fuckity fuck.

“Are you following me?”

Clarke sputters, nearly dropping her basket. “What? I live here.”

The brunette raises an eyebrow. How the fuck can one look from this woman completely disarm her? “You live here, in this grocery store?”

“Yes!” Fuck, wait. Of course she would say something stupid like that. “No, I mean, I live three blocks from here, so I live in this neighborhood. Which is why I would be at this grocery store, just like I am on the regular, and not following you, or whatever you just accused me of doing.”

“I accused you of following me.”

“Well, your accusation is bullshit, because I live here.”

“Three blocks from here.” The brunette supplied.

“Right, whatever. Look, I am very busy.” Clarke pretends to be extremely absorbed in these bananas, throwing three bunches into her basket. She will figure out what the fuck to do with three bunches of bananas at a later time.

“So it’s complete coincidence that we rode the same train, got off at the same stop, and walked to the same neighborhood market after our earlier encounter today?” it`s so infuriating that every space in this brunette`s face is so perfect.

“Weirdly, yes?”

“And you acting absolutely ridiculous, flipping your hair around and hiding behind stock boys, that’s a coincidence as well?”

“I was not acting ridiculous.” Alexandria van der Woods eyebrow continues to hover in its sky high position. She could not possibly look more doubtful of the situation. “Dr. Griffin, you almost knocked over a hot dog stand attempting to do a tumble on all fours.”

“That’s just...I have a condition.” Clarke adds yet another bunch of bananas to her basket. “I have iron deficiency. I need more, um, potassium.”

The other woman is now looking at Clarke’s basket, which, on top of the abundance of bananas, also contains a bottle of Jose Cuervo, a bottle of white wine, and store brand white rum.“Well,” she says, her voice dripping in disdain. “I wish you the best of luck with that, Dr. Griffin”

“And I...uh, to you...wish you that as wel. Miss van der Woods” “You wish me the

best of luck with an iron deficiency?” Clarke goes right ahead and adds a fifth bunch of bananas.

“Nope,” she says, enthusiastically shaking her head.“That would be ridiculous. Very ridiculous.”

Brunette Broody McSexy gives Clarke one last sweeping look, head to toe, and if there’s something more than utter judgment, it’s hard to say, but fuck it, her optimistic ass will see it there anyway. “Well, in case this isn’t evident, Dr.Griffin Griffin, I don’t take well to being followed. Just as a rule.”

“How do I know you weren’t following me?”

“That is absolutely preposterous.” It’s Booty McSexy’s turn to look slightly flustered. She pulls protectively on her shopping basket, which Clarke takes a moment to observe contains almost entirely organic fruit and vegetables, and a bottle of Shiraz.

“I’ve lived here for three years and have never seen you in this neighborhood before tonight.” Booty McSexy snorts.

“How would you know that?”

“Have you seen yourself? I would definitely remember you,” Clarke clips, and nearly claps a hand over her mouth after saying that. Stop thinking with your clit, dumbass! Booty McSexy’s cheeks go red, and then she looks considerably angrier.

“Maybe your memory is not as reliable as you think, Miss Griffin. Just a few minutes ago, you told me you lived in this grocery store.”

“A grocery store I have never seen you in before now, when you accused me of following you.”

“Maybe I just shop when you’re not here.”

“Maybe one way to cover when you’re caught following someone is to immediately accuse them of following you."

Lexa’s eyes narrow. “Are you accusing a senior member of management of stalking you, Dr. Griffin?”

Clarke is not entirely sure what to say in response to this, but she decides to add a sixth bunch of bananas to her basket just...because.“Will you quit on Dr.Griffin? You make me feel so old. Like we are not in the office anymore??”

 

“Clarke” The other woman lets out a sound that is somewhere between a purr and hiss. It’s sultry, despite being equally terrifying which made Clarke lose her footing, she was just literally standing but somehow her knees gave up, she`s hungry, and needs to be intoxicated ASAP, that`s not because Miss Sassy McSexy made her name sound like the sexiest word in the world, definitely not that reason, besides she has iron deficiency her bones are brittle. She crosses her arms, eyes narrowed. “You should have that added to your file in Human Resources. It’s not listed under your medical needs at present.”

 

“I...wait, have you looked at my file?”

 

“Good to see you, Clarke. Have a nice week.” McSexy’s cheeks has a distinct pink tint, for the second time that day, she turns on her heel, disappearing around the other side of the aisle. By the time Clarke has put back the appropriate amount of bananas and arrived at the line, she notices a basket placed just in front of the checkout counter, still full of organic vegetables and two liters of soya milk. Someone was in a hurry...

 

 

                                                                      xoxo

 

She gently closed the file she was reading and discreetly tucked it inside her leather laptop briefcase when Anya entered her office. "Drinks tonight oh dear cousin?" 

 

"Sure, but I need to head to my flat for a bit, why don`t we get dinner, I promised Aden I`ll take him out today. I didn`t realize today is my full day at work."

 

"Sure, do you have a car or do you want me to pick him up while you get changed?" Anya sat in one of her couches.

 

At least Lexa`s office isn`t as ostentatious as her father`s. It was divided into two rooms, the outer office is where she can hold departmental meetings, it was complete with an eight seater panel, two alcove mini office for her assistants and the inner office is her executive office. Inside the executive office is her dark mahogany long table, two sets of computer monitor. She requested an ergonomic office chair instead of the plush leather she`s now sitting on, hopefully the maintenance can have it replace tomorrow. Behind her is a floor to ceiling shelf full of books, from bio-science to autobiographies, the walls are lined up with expensive art, she`s pretty sure the carpet alone costs about a few hundred dollars. Her father made sure everything is polished and executive like, and it screams control. Her office is like, not her personality. She`s more into minimalists design. Staying inside her executive office is suffocating, it feels like her father is hawk watching her in every angle. She asked security if there are any camera`s hidden or not, just to make sure. Luckily, there is no camera in her executive office, but for recording purposes, the outer office have two cameras, one facing the entrance to her executive office and one facing the panel table. 

 

"You can pick him up, saves me the time having to see Alexander. One meeting is enough. Anyway, do you think I need a car, I don`t live too far away."

 

"There`s always the company car if you need transport, or you can borrow one of your dad`s."

 

"I`m pretty sure all his cars are off limits, and even if not, I`m sure there are tracking device on them, plus I don`t want to owe him anymore than what we agreed on."

 

Anya rolled her eyes but nodded, she was one of the few people who knew Lexa well,"How are things with the blonde doctor?" she gently approached the subject. 

 

"No developments. And we should keep it like that. She`s an employee and a distraction."

 

"She`s a beautiful distraction, cousin, besides, she does not directly report to you. I`m your lawyer so I can positively say, go for it."

 

"Still inappropriate and distraction. Besides, she`s obviously looking for hook ups. And as a senior member of the organization, I refuse to fall into her trap and humiliate myself."

 

"Jesus, Lexa, what is a one night stand? She`s hot, she wants to bang you and you obviously need to bang. So bang each other discreetly."

 

"Did you really pass bar with that kind of argument?" Lexa rolls her eyes as she hands Anya a tumbler of expensive smelling whiskey. Is there anything not expensive in this office? It`s really suffocating. 

 

"What I`m saying is---"

 

"I`m only here for Aden, and for work."

 

"Look Lexa, not everyone is like Cost---"

 

"I know! But I`m not looking for anything, if it happens, it happens."

 

 

 So by 5:27, Lexa is definitely not waiting for anyone in the lobby. She did not cross the street towards the station when she saw a blonde head went to that direction, and she most definitely did not buy two tickets. 

 

It was a total chance, fate if you will have it, that she went to the same grocery store when she saw a hooded figure in a worn leather jacket enter the said grocery store. She needed to stock her apartment with foods, that`s why she`s in the grocery. It was an unfortunate chance that, a certain blonde doctor is now following her. Her jaw aches so much trying to restrain herself from smiling as she watch the blonde choke on her own idiocy. It`s a complete chance that the went to this grocery store on the opposite side from where she lives and bumped, for the second time, with Clarke Griffin, sans business card this time. Everything is a total disaster. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. What do you mean?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re so indecisive of what I’m saying  
> Trying to catch the beat, make up your heart.  
> Don't know if you're happy, or complaining.

Tuesday

 

To: clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com

From: lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com

Subject: Iron Deficiency

This article describes the symptoms of a potassium deficiency. They do not seem to match the symptoms you described last night. I believe you should seek a second opinion on your diagnosishttp://www.healthline.com/health/food-nutrition/how-to-avoid-a-potassium-deficiency

 

LWoods 

.

.

.

To: lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com

From: clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com

Subject: RE: Potassium Deficiency

 

1\. I don’t trust WebMD. Last time I used it, they told me I had a rare cancer and was going to die. I had a head cold.

2\. If you really think I should see a new doctor about my condition, maybe you guys should raise the health insurance coverage for your employees. Anything else in my file that piqued your interest?

 

Clarke

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.

.

To: clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com

From: lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com

Subject: RE: RE: Potassium Deficiency

The Internet has also made me aware that your condition is not Iron deficiency and maybe it`s of potassium deficiency, Based on your choice in groceries last night, I am concerned that the amount of bananas you’re consuming coupled with the amount of alcohol you are assumedly ingesting could compromise your kidney function, and thus compromise your work. For a doctor, you should know this, sholdn`t you?

Your health insurance package is competitive, as you would know having taken the job. I have no idea what you’re implying. It’s inappropriate at best. Please refrain from contacting me on this email with personal requests, as this is a business account.

LWoods

.

.

.

To: lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com

From: clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com

Subject: RE: RE: RE: Potassium Deficiency

Has anyone ever played you the song What do YOU mean by Justin Bieber or mentioned it in relation to you before? Asking in a professional sense, as this will give me a better idea of how to work under you in the future.

Clarke

.

.

.

Clarke did not receive a response to that one for the rest of the week. But then on Friday, at 4:46 PM, she hears the chime of her inbox.

To: clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com

From: lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com

Subject: RE: RE: RE: RE: Potassium Deficiency

If you are describing Justin Bieber`s Purpose album, then no, that’s not the song from that album that people might use while discussing me. I don’t encourage any of my employees to think of themselves as working ‘under me’, Miss Griffin. On the contrary, thinking of the entire company as a team where everyone has equal investment and say, one could argue that you’re more likely to work over me and on top of me.

LWoods

.

.

.

At 4:48 PM, the late afternoon calm of the third floor is briefly interrupted by a member of the test and research, shoving her fist in the air and exclaiming “Fuck yeah!” obtrusively. And maybe the Purpose album is loudly playing inside the confines of the polymeric micro-particles research lab.

 

****

 

Wednesday around noon, a crumpled piece of paper comes flying over the side of the cubicle wall, landing on Clarke’s keyboard. Unfolding the paper reveals a cryptic message:

HEY YOU

Clarke sighs, unfazed. “Rae,” she says. “You know you can just ping me on Skype, right?”

“I’ve got an exclusive for your ears only.” Raven appears over the top of the wall, grinning ear to ear. “There’s free food in one of the conference rooms.”

Clarke perks up at her desk. The words ‘free’ and ‘food’ uttered anywhere in this office are a dangerous declaration, one almost guaranteed to start a stampede.

“Free food as in it was offered to everyone, or free food as in there was a meeting in there a few minutes ago and we’d be pilfering the leftovers?” Raven grins sheepishly, shrugging.

“It’s more like there’s going to be a meeting, and I just happen to have an in with the secretary who puts out all the spreads.”

“You’re suggesting we steal?”

“Pssh, they can afford it. Our catering budget is bananas.”

“What about bananas?”

“Not literal bananas.” Raven raises an eyebrow.“It’s a turn of phrase, sheesh.”

“Yeah Okay,” Clarke says, pretending like her brain wasn’t just flooded with traumatic recent memories.“We are not stealing food from the execs conference rooms, Rae. How did you even know this?”

“Let’s just say I played the long con for this one.”

 

And if this were any other story, we’d probably take this moment to cut away to a series of scenes in which Raven spots the fourth floor secretary crying in the ladies’ bathroom, only to offer her a shoulder and a tissue in the parking garage, followed shortly by further shoulders and tissues at a bar, and then giving her a drunken pep talk on a rooftop at 3 in the morning.

Later, they bond through fun but slightly criminal activities like stealing shopping carts and picking up guys only to dump them after they buy them food, and Raven telling the secretary that she can trust her with anything. Cue the next day, when this secretary tells Raven that if she goes upstairs within an eight minute window, she can snag fresh fruit and cookies from conference room nine.

 

Cookies. Pastries. Anything with sugar. Are always Clarke Griffins downfall, so Raven didn`t have to ask her twice to go cookie hunting in the executives floor.“Holy mackerel, there’s fucking cookies,” Clarke nearly leaps across the conference table to fill her pockets with two giant chocolate chip beauties. “We never get cookies, we just get those soggy sandwich components and pitchers of room temperature water. These bastards get cookies!”

 

Raven makes a frantic gesture with her arms. “Keep it down,” she hisses, using a napkin as a pouch for her dessert items. “This must be some executive shit, compadre. This is elite-level catering.”

“How are we going to hide this from the rest of the team?”

“How deep are your pockets?” “

Maybe we can stuff some in our bras. My tits would look good.”

“Your tits are okay. Leave a few for the important people who are actually supposed to be here.”

“Fuck them, they can have the fruit.”

Raven whistles in agreement. “So, not to change the subject from the food we are stealing--”

“Borrowing.”

“Are you going to give these cookies back? Wouldn’t that entail something really disgusting?”

Clarke sighs. “Fine, stealing.”

“Like I said, not to change the subject from stealing, but I have this friend. Before you protest, she’s really cute and--”

“Seriously?” Clarke is already groaning before she knows it. She adds another cookie to the napkin in her hand and decides that seven cookies is probably enough. “I don’t know, Rae. The last one you set me up with was kind of a disaster.”

And if this were any other story, we’d probably take this moment to cut to a flashback in which Clarke is stabbing a piece of fish with chopsticks while a redhead looks on in horror. Clarke is bad at chopsticks. The redhead, whose name is Luna but that won’t matter because Clarke sure as hell is not saving her number, says she is allergic to seafood. Why she suggested they go to a sushi place is beyond Emma. Luna talks a lot about her ex, Derek, and the slaughtering of dolphins. Luna feels really strongly about the slaughtering of dolphins.

“Dolphins are far more emotionally intelligent than humans,” Luna says.“It’s entirely possible they are communicating with each other using telepathy.”

“I mean, dolphins are cute and all,” Clarke says, in between bites of not-dolphin-but-basically.“But sometimes they seem kind of smug. Not like that justifies killing them or anything, just that there is a certain smugness about them. Maybe if they toned down the smugness, we wouldn’t have to save them, you know?”

Luna leaves her seaweed salad untouched and walks out on the date. Clarke texts Raven and immediately demands to know where she met this girl. Raven admits it was at a Save the Sea rally, where she was trying to pick up girls.

 

“How do you even know I’m single?” Clarke asks, this on the way out of the conference room.Their attempts at stealth are now out the window, as they walk down the hall with two fistfuls of stolen catered goods.

“You dress like you’re single. And you spend most of the work day checking your OkCupid account, which is pathetic as sad unto itself.”

Clarke snorts. “How does one dress like they’re single?”

Raven gives her a skeptical one-over. “Have you worn a single color this month?”

“Black is a color.”

“Black is desperate. Black simultaneously signals sexual strife and having given up completely. It hides wine stains.”

Clarke pretends like she didn’t spill Shiraz all over this top a week ago. “I didn’t realize the whole monochrome thing I had going was in fact signaling the world to the lonesome state of my sex life. Hello world, look at me, wearing black. Come rescue my vagina before it crumbles into the sea, dry and wasted.”

 

“Sorry?”

 

This not from Raven, but from the executive director who has just rounded the corner and just about bang into Clarke, not in the way Clarke desperately wanted but, still holding a cookie in each hand. If she could smack herself in the forehead, she would, but that would cost her a cookie and look ironic at the most.

“Uh, hello Ms. Van der Woods,” Clarke quickly hides the cookies behind her back as if they weren’t just completely visible for a good twenty seconds.

The executive director raises an eyebrow, one of those almost smiles in play now that she’s had time to take in the whole situation. “Just, uh...talking about research projects.”

“Very complicated research,” Raven chimes in, not helping. “We have really big project this month.” Raven is also attempting to hide her cookie theft, but as she stuffed two in her bra and the rest in twin piles that she could barely hold when she wasn’t attempting to conceal them from her superiors, this is failing.

“Fantastic,” their boss says, clearly trying to be stoic. She glances into the unlit conference room behind them, where, were she to step inside, she would find a ravaged plate of cookie crumbs and some assorted fruits. “You wouldn’t happen to know if there are any desserts left, would you?”

“Why would we know that?” Raven answers too quickly.

“Sorry, were you pilfering another conference room? My bad. I thought I might be able to steal a pastry or two myself.” The brunette’s eyes fall on Clarke, sparkling over that smug little grin. Shit, she is simultaneously cruelly gloating and...flirting? Is this flirting?

“Did they have any bananas, Dr. Griffin? You know, I was only just reading this morning that dark leafy greens are high in potassium.”

“Didn’t see any dark leafy greens.” Clarke continues to keep her hands firmly behind her back.

_Fuck, she is flirting._

Code red, this is a flirtation situation. “We should really head downstairs. Team meeting.”

“Right,” Raven says, nodding furiously.

“Have to discuss big research projects. Big things happening in research. So research project, much wow.”

“Of course,” the brunette says, and Clarke does not stick around long enough to see if she ends up ducking into the conference room or not. That might mean hitting on her. That might be...a bad idea.

 

*******

 

Raven pings her as soon as they get back to their desks.

ZEROgRae : YO LEXA VANDERWOODS IS COOL AS FUCK STEALIN FOOD AND SHIT, SHE IS DOWN AS BALLS IF SHE WASN’T OUR BOSS AND YOU HAD TOTALLY SCREWED THE POOCH WITH THE COFFEE THING, I’D TELL YOU TO PURSUE THAT SHIT LIKE A PROFESSIONAL PURSUER

Clarke gives her a shaky thumbs up over the cubicle wall.

This is a subject she just really does not need to stumble into right now. Like, super dee do dee duper does not need.

 

To: clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com

From: lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com

Subject: Employee Engagement

I’m concerned after hearing about your situation involving the “crumbling into the sea” (and “dry and wasted”). If this is the state of the test and research team, we really need to talk. Are you free this afternoon? I have time between 3 and 3:15. My office is on the sixth floor.

LWoods

.

.

.

To: lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com

From: clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com

Subject: Employee Engagement

That is not nearly enough time to go into the situation about the failed test research. Sorry.

Clarke

.

.

.

To: clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com

From: lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com

Subject: Employee Engagement

I believe strongly in making myself completely available and open to my employees, so if that time doesn’t work for you, I’m more than willing to work within or around your preference. If you’re free after work, I could also discuss this outside of the office. Whatever is most convenient for you?

Lwoods

.

.

.

Oh, shit. Because everything in her body - mostly her groin area - is reacting strongly to this email, Clarke launches herself onto the cubicle partition. “Rae,” she gasps. “Gimme that girl’s number.”

Rae looks thrown. “Uh, I thought you were owning your whole parched vag situation?”

Clarke holds out an exasperated palm. “Now.”

Raven scribbles something in a piece of paper and hands Clarke the post it with the new girl's number. Clarke gives her and open mouthed kiss which Raven pretended she's gagging. 


	4. Sledgehammer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't admit it  
> I play it cool  
> But every minute  
> That I'm with you  
> I feel the fever and I won't lie  
> I break a sweat  
> My body's telling  
> All the secrets I ain't told you yet

So, full disclosure, the date ain’t going half bad. Clarke is somehow managing to be more charming than she’s been in ages - all her corny jokes are landing, she described her not-interesting job in a way that made it sound interesting, she did not spill any of this fancy wine that she ordered without fucking up any of the pronunciations or wincing at the price!

 

All in all, a bold gold star showing. And the girl is cute. Really cute.

 

Regina got a sexy voice. Like sex dripping voice, and she speaks Spanish and french. Clarke does have a bit of a thing for foreign languages. Clarke breathes a little evenly when she asked about pets and Regina said no, she does not have any, she can only have so much tolerance for animals. Clarke will date a shitty person for access to even the least tolerant pet, she’ll do it, damn it. So when dinner is over and they’ve had just enough alcohol to need to lean on each other to put on their coats, Clarke suggests they head back to hers. After all, she’s only a few blocks away, and Regina looks really great in that Burberry scarf.

 

At the grocery on her corner, Clarke decides to swing in to pick up another bottle of wine, since she is pretty sure the only alcohol she has at hers is a very sad and ancient bottle of cheap sangria from last spring, and an even more sad bottle of cheap vodka, which she has cried into on more than one occasion. So, wanting to spare the nice lady a salty glass of tear-wine, she goes for a tipsy wander in the wine aisle. Regina says she’s going to grab some shortbread, and heads to another section. She’s reaching for something that has a shiny label - that’s about Clarke’s level of wine knowledge, shiny label = wow - when someone makes a tutting noise behind her.

 

“I wouldn’t if I were you. Overpriced and too much tang.” Clarke takes a deep breath. Surely it must be the effect of digesting a steak and wine that has caused her to hallucinate this particular voice tonight. “Or,” the brunette continues, appearing to Clarke’s right in a floral bomber jacket and ultra tight skinny jeans, complete with an ugly beanie on her head, basket under her arm. “You could go for something a bit stronger and more complex in taste. Might suit the evening better.”

Clarke tries not to grin.

Fuck, she is a grinning idiot anyway. “Didn’t realize you were a wine expert in addition to an executive director.”

“The two go hand in hand, actually. Eleven years in Europe, five which is spent in Paris, I only need to look at the bottle to know a good wine.”

“And as I am merely experimenting on wine, I’ll take whatever has the yellow sales tag on it.”

The brunette smirks. “Because you’re in lab research?”

“Actually...no. But now that you’ve pointed it out, that is a very solid pun. I will need to log that away for future use.” Clarke sighs, pretending like she’s not aware that she is in a very obvious date night outfit and McSexy’s in these really nice skinny jeans, ass firm and her legs are just...doing their thing, there really wonderful thing...and she needs to not be so aware of everything going on over there.

But she is. Very aware. Irreversibly aware.“You’re still stalking me, huh?”

The brunette gets this look, simultaneously playful and something Clarke can’t put her finger on just yet, and she bites down on the side of her mouth, starting to grin.“Yes, Miss Griffin. Instead of me living in this neighborhood and needing to get groceries on a Thursday night, you have come to the correct conclusion that I am stalking you. Of course I have nothing better to do with my time, like making dinner plans with friends.”

“You have friends?”

But McSexy skates over this question, pulling another bottle from the shelves. “Red or white, Dr. Griffin?”

“No preference.”

“Really?” McSexy raises an eyebrow, studying a label. “That’s surprising. You strike me as a woman of at least a few telling preference.”

“I don’t know,” Clarke says, and fuck, why does she feel so self-conscious all of a sudden?

“I like trying new things. I’ll trust your judgment if you want to make a recommendation.”

“Well, then.” The other woman smirks. “Is this for you, or will you be sharing?” At this, her gaze sweeps down Clarke’s outfit, and it’s clear what conclusion she’s drawn.“For two, then.” the idea that Clarke is on a date, sharing this wine with someone who is not her, made Lexa`s heart sink a few feet under the ground. 

“Uh, I mean--”

“Oh, so you’re not on a date? You’re not buying this to impress your date so that when you uncork it in your unlit apartment she’ll be able to overlook your uncoordinated furniture and think it’s charming that you spend money on bottles of wine you can’t pronounce instead of Ikea headrests you can’t pronounce.”

Clarke is full of very confusing feelings right now. On one hand, she is pretty sure she should be insulted by this little quip, but every part of her is very engaged, very turned on, and very ready to banter right back. On the other hand, and this hand is fighting to remain relevant, she is also on a date right now, and it’s not with her executive director.

“You know what?” Clarke puts the bottle back on the shelf with a lot of ceremony and flair.“I think I’ll just get some budweiser and call it a night.”

The brunette’s lips turn in amusement. “Very classy, Dr. Griffin.”

“I could probably be classier if you increased my salary. Just saying.”

“You can’t buy taste, I’m afraid.” At this moment, Regina comes up behind Clarke, gripping her arms.

“You’re taking an awfully long time with that wine.”

“I ran into a venerated wine expert,” Clarke says, shooting a look at her boss, who has taken a bemused interest in the girl now hanging onto her arm. “Regina, this is, uh, Alexandria van der Woods. I work with her. Or rather, I work under her.”

Oh fucking hell, did I honestly just say that? Did I make that completely worthless and totally suggestive correction? Oh sweet lord Jesus dancing macarena –

“Nice to meet you Miss Van der Woods. Regina Mills.”

“Pleasure is mine,” the other woman extends her hand, nodding curtly. “Lexa, if you would please. Clarke here was being an awful tease about her taste in wine. I told her, we’ll never pick out a bottle for the two of you if we don’t know what she likes.”

“Red,” Regina says, winking at Clarke. “You like the reds, don’t you?” Regina asks the blonde.

“I mean, I don’t know. I’ll try whatever.”

“Well,” Lexa gives Regina a thorough investigation in less than a second, but Clarke can already tell from her expression that she’s done enough sizing up for her judgment. “I’d recommend an older vintage, to be honest.”

Clarke shrugs a little too forcefully. “Age really doesn’t matter. I don’t think I could tell the difference, really.”

“Oh, trust me. The moment you get so much as a drop of it, you’ll notice the difference immediately. It’s much more...heady. Stronger and more complex.” Clarke pretends like she’s not on the verge of...trembling, of all things.

“Yeah, that’s...I’ll take just about anything, really. Not picky.”

“You should be picky, Dr. Griffin.”

“It’s just wine.”

“Wine can be much more than just wine.”

Regina is blinking, staring between the two of them. “Are we...is this about wine?”

“Of course,” Lexa says, breaking her gaze and smiling at Regina. “Here, try this.”

She hands over one of the bottles, nodding. “Bourbon. Classy, yet strong. That seems your taste, Dr. Griffin. I hope you two have a wonderful evening.”

“Oh,” Clarke says, slinging an arm over Regina narrowing her eyes in Lexa’s direction. “We will.”

.

.

.

An hour and two double shot of bourbon later, and Clarke reaches across her couch that does not coordinate with her two chairs, grinning. Regina gives her a chaste kiss, and then smiles in a way that Clarke can’t quite place. It’s not really pity, but it’s...not too far off.

“I had a really great night,” Regina says, hand on Clarke’s cheek. “And you are a really great person.”

“Shit,” Clarke says, sitting back. “The really great person talk.”

“No, it’s not that.” She smirks, laughing. “Like I said, I had a great night. It’s just that our entire dinner had about one sixteenth the amount of sparks you had talking to your coworker.”

Clarke blinks. “Wait, what?”

“If I could date that person, the one you were when you were talking to her about...whatever was very clearly not wine, I’d be all for it. I think any girl would want to be looked at the way you were looking at her.”

“That’s... I don’t like her. That’s totally...that’s just totally crazy, that is not at all--”

Regina presses her finger to Clarke’s lips, shaking her head with a smile. “It’s okay, Clarke. You’re very cute. I think there’s someone you’d rather be sharing dinner with, and that’s fine. I hope that’s a thing you get to do, for your sake and hers. She is clearly bottling it up.”

Clarke lets out a giant sigh, falling back onto the couch. “Shit,” is all she can say, and all she can really process at this time.

“Honestly, though?” Regina takes another sip of her glass. “She was right about bourbon. This is right up my alley.”

There was a frantic knock on the door. Clarke stood up and wonders if she mentioned her flat is off limits to Raven and Octavia tonight. Since she doesn't really have visitors besides her two best friends.

"Sorry to bother you. But, can I borrow your phone? Mine got destroyed." 

There was a freaking attractive blonde on her doorstep with bleeding side and torn red leather jacket. 

"Don't worry ma'am, I'm a police officer." As officer Emma Swan shows her badge. 

"Oh my god!" Regina gasps from behind Clarke which brought Clarke back into from staring stupidly at the sight of bloodied police officer and she ushered the blonde police officer in to give her first aid. After tending to the blonde officer's scrapes and wounds, Officer Swan used Regina's cellphone to call her partner for back up. 

 

Later that night, she confirms that giving your business card is a really smooth move that you can always pull to pick up girls, even if the girls are technically still on a date with another girl. Like, that's her smoothest move. She's a smoother motherfucker. Yep. Officer Swan is. 

                                                                   XOXO

 

To: lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com

From: clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com

Subject: Employee Engagement

Thank you for the recommendation. Bourbon was fine. Apparently a one-time thing. Would have liked to have the wine, but it turns out that the wine is totally delusional about my actual taste in wine and seems to think I would prefer some other kind of wine which is just crazy and whatever, I don’t know, who knows what even with the wine.

Clarke  
.  
.  
.

To: clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com  
From: lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com  
Subject: Employee Engagement

Dr. Griffin,

I am not sure why you felt that information was necessary for a business communication. While I appreciate that you wanted to send me a thank you in regards to my wine suggestion, I have nothing to do with the rest of your email regarding wine. In the future, please restrict our communications to business and/or urgent needs only.

  
Lwoods  
.  
.  
.

To: lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com  
From: clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com  
Subject: Employee Engagement

Urgent needs? Really?

Clarke  
.  
.  
.

To: clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com  
From: lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com  
Subject: Employee Engagement

I’m sorry, are you looking for clarification?

  
LWoods  
.  
.  
.

To: lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com  
From: clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com  
Subject: Employee Engagement

  
The research team is no longer dried out and crumbling into the sea. It’s totally great and awesome and really doesn’t need any more wine recommendations. It can find its own wine, thanks. That’s all. Thanks. I hope you have a wonderful Monday.

 

Clarke

.

.

.

Raven leans over the cubicle at this point, eyebrows raised. “Duuuuude, if you pound that keyboard any harder, you’re gonna snap it in half.”

  
Clarke realizes she is breathing significantly harder “Uh, right. Sure.”

  
“Is this gonna be one of those days where we pour brandy in our coffee?” Raven produces a flask. “Because I’m on it.”

  
Clarke nods. It is for sure gonna be one of those days, if not weeks, if not however long she needs to work under, er, with Alexandria van der Woods. Not under, or over, or on top of, or behind. Right.


	5. Dangerous Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Somethin' 'bout you makes me feel like a dangerous woman  
> Makes me wanna do things that I shouldn't

“So I`m right, right?"

 

"She has a point, Clarke." Octavia tilted her head towards Raven

 

“Yeah, it’s really early for me to have to think about that shit, Rae.”

 

"I mean, one out of four people you made out with is still out there single, You made out with Octavia, she met Linc. You made out with Emily, now she`s moms with Alison. And then this cop pulls your business card trick on Regina, now they`re dating. I guess the trick works on different shade of blonde?"

 

"I kissed you the other day Rae, are you dating anyone? Did you find your true love?" she arched her brows on Raven.

 

“Speaking of which, shit--” Raven says, ducking behind Clarke. Anya from the legal department is walking past the kitchen, file under her arm. “The entire legal department has been trying to set me up with her for the past month.”

 

Clarke shrugs. “She’s cute, Rae. Girl’s wearing a tie to work. I don’t even wear ties to work, and I’m gayer than a soccer team at a pride festival.”

 

“No, I get that she’s cute. And it’s not that she’s a girl, I would obviously get down with a girl whenever I want to get down with a girl. It’s more that, it`s them trying to set us up makes it forced, and--”

 

“Right.” Octavia grins. “The fact someone thinks it’s a good idea means you can’t possibly go along with it, because you only do bad ideas?”

 

“No,” Rae retorts, waggling her spoon in a particularly accusatory way. Clarke chuckles.

 

“Excuse you, Griffers creepers. On a scale of the cat lady in accounting to Alycia Debnam Carey naked except for a crown, how’s the dating going?”

 

“Um, it’s not? But that’s cool, having a functional sex life with an attractive viable adult woman is totally overrated, you know?”

 

“You know what I heard a program about the other day? These apps for dating, all the young people are doing it.” Octavia looks suddenly more chipper than usual, which is already a baseline of high chipperness.

 

“Are you on Tinder? Let’s make you a Tinder profile!” Raven offers her a high five. “I underestimated you, little Blake. Shoving Griffers right into the hellfire that is the dregs of instantaneous dating. I like your evil genius thinking.”

 

“Nope.” Clarke furiously shakes her head. “Absolutely not happening.”

 

“Don’t fight it, Clarkey.” Raven does her finger guns. “Pew, pew, Cupid’s comin’. And Cupid wants you to meet some weirdos on the Internet.” Unknown to the blonde, her mobile phone is currently in the hands of the capable chemical engineer.

                                                             ***XOXO***

 

Around noon, Raven drops Clarke’s phone over the cubicle wall. “You’re welcome,” she says, and awaits Clarke’s approval. “When the heck did you steal my phone?”

 

“About an hour ago, when Titus asked you to go around and get everyone’s sandwich orders.”she lied.

 

“Ah yes, my daily bitch responsibilities.” Clarke opens up her phone, only to see the telltale orange Tinder symbol. “Rae.”

 

“It’s signed in with your work email, your password is ‘Desperation’, with a capital D. I made it so you’ll see girls who like other girls and also boys, but honestly, it’s a bit buggy. There’s the odd dude in there, and I’d say about a third of these girls have never so much as trimmed their nails, if you know what I mean.”

 

“Why did you call me a ‘cubicle slave’?”

 

“Because you are a slave, currently in rotting in a chem lab. Also I picked the photos that best showed your tits. We need to play to your very few strengths.”

 

Clarke scrolls through her profile, sighing. “The mozzarella sticks thing is accurate, good call there.”

 

Raven winks. “I gotchu, boo.”

 

“This doesn’t mean I’ll ever use it, for the record.”

 

“Just give it a try, okay?” Raven clasps her hands together in a mock puppy dog eye pleading gesture. “Three right swipes, that’s all I ask.”

 

Clarke very stubbornly does not open Tinder again that week, as she feels strongly that all of her friends’ investment in her singlehood

a) Weird and b) Ultimately a fruitless task for everyone involved.

 

It’s just that it’s a Friday night and she can’t sleep and her phone is just sitting there on the pillow next to her, glowing in a smug way (like a fucking cellphone would do, really) and fine, fine.

“ _Fine_ ,” she says glaring to her phone and to her empty apartment and also to fate itself, as she assumes she is about to seriously tempt it. The first profile belongs to a blonde named Piper, only two pictures, both of which she has her eyes closed, and her profile says she is “Be my prison wife”; taken but looking for a third who wants a sleeping buddy.”

“That sounds like a complicated but weirdly boring arrangement,” Clarke says, swiping left.

A few girls who either aren’t her type or are so her type that they are actually exes, maybe too many of those, and then something that makes Clarke nearly throw her phone across the bed.

“No fucking way,” she whispers, and immediately drops the phone into her lap so that she is not touching the screen. Too risky. “Okay, but I can’t swipe right, because then she will know. But if I swipe left, she’ll also know and will probably fire me.” Clarke is frantically pacing from one end of her bedroom to the other, phone against her ear...

.

.

.

“Do you or do you not understand how Tinder works?” Rae sighs on the other end. Clarke does not know this, but Raven is currently sitting on top of Anya from the legal department, who is attempting to answer emails while Raven straddles her. Raven has always admired her dedication to her career. Also her six pack abs, Raven definitely admires those.

“Is it the worst that I want to swipe right?”

“So just swipe right.” Another heaving sigh from Raven. “Dude, this is such a non-issue. If you swipe right and she doesn’t, life goes on and no one knows. If she swipes right, too, it’s proof that you both wanna bang and you can just go ahead and bang. Be scissor sisters and all. This is the beauty of Tinder. Risk-free with a chance of screwing.”

“She’s like...our boss. Not just our boss, but our really high level boss.” Clarke nearly runs into her wall to keep up with her urgent pacing.

“She also has a Tinder account, so on some level, she is down. Didn’t you say it says FineStud on her profile?”

“No, it specifically says that you should not call her a whatever.” Clarke chanced a glance on Lexa`s profile picture for eleventh time now, she`s dressed tastefully, her leather jacket is obviously expensive even if it looks tattered, her slim red tie accentuate her long elegant neck, she wan`t looking at the camera but her smirk is defined and her hair blowing in the wind, it looked like the photo was taken in a highway or something, there was a profile of a bike behind her.

“That means she knows she is a fucking gorgeous.” Raven laughs, which Clarke might think is in reaction to her statement, but is actually because Anya has given up on emails, hands travelling the body of the girl on lap. “Oh, that is too good.”

“What’s too good?”

“Nothing, don’t, uh...ah,fuck...worry about it.”

Clarke makes a face at her phone. “Are you doing what I think you’re doing right now?”

A quick gasp from Raven. “Nope, definitely not, byeseeyoutomorrow” and then the telltale three beeps of hanging up.

.

.

.

Well, that was not helpful. An hour later, and Clarke’s phone is still mocking her from afar, now placed a firm three feet away from her bed. She has decided, probably against all the better judgment in the world, to psych herself up to the actual swipe by doing two shots of tequila and blasting Tove Lo`s Talking Body.

“You don’t own me,” she says to her phone, pointing harshly at it. “I can swipe right on some hot unattainable executive director who is executively directing my job or whatever, and that doesn’t define me.” The phone does not respond, as it is a phone.

Clarke picks up her phone with a dramatic flourish, opens Tinder, and she swipes right on Lexa Fucking van de Woods. It takes a few seconds for Clarke to process. Then she manages to throw the phone back onto the bed, and scream:

“WHAT DO I EVEN DO WITH THIS INFORMATION?!”

 

 

                                                                 ***xoxo*** 

 

“But seriously, what do I even do with that information?” Raven and Octavia have been silent while Clarke explains the situation, including an in-depth interpretation of Lexa’s one sentence profile and her photo choices. They’re all in line at the worst coffee place on earth, possibly because a part of Clarke really wants to run into the lady in question again, possibly because it’s a Friday morning and no one can be assed to get into work on time.

“Well,” Octavia says, and then coughs gently into her fist. She glances at Raven, and then back at Clarke.

“Um, it’s...well.” Raven’s eyes are narrowed, and Clarke genuinely cannot read her expression. Not that Raven is always an open book, but she’s certainly more transparent than this.

Raven orders her coffee, and then waits silently with hip cocked and one finger resting precariously on her chin in a very dramatic stance of thinking. “Uh, guys? Could really use some help here.”

“I think you should go for it.” Raven says, finally, only for Clarke to nearly spill her coffee in response.

“Seriously.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.” Raven takes a very pensive sip of Clarke’s coffee, and then strikes a dramatic pose, staring off into the distance. “You have a rare opportunity, my friend. In a world where no one knows what the heck anybody else is thinking, and where none of us have a chance with unattainable hotties 99.9% of the time, you’ve been given a clear and un-fuck-up-able signal: she is down. She is down as hell. And what do we do when we are told that they are down as hell?”

 

Clarke is at a loss for words. “We...get...down?”

 

“Exactly. We get down. So, Clarke fucking Griffin, you must take up this quest on behalf of all those who will never get the chance. You must get down.” The barista hands Raven her order, and Raven gives it a sip, makes a face. “Oh, come on, how fucking hard is it to use soy milk? Are we living in the prehistoric era, people? I know y’all can milk a damn soy bean.”

And so, Clarke Griffin decides on two things. The first is that she's going to try and convince Titus Archibald to fix the water cooler so it stops tasting like urine. The second is that she's going to try to get down...whatever that actually means.

.

.

. 

“Why do we have penguins?” Clarke is gesturing over her shoulder to the collection of nearly identical white men in very expensive looking suits who are currently being given an overly enthusiastic and mostly-inaccurate tour of the department by Titus.

“Potential client.” Raven rolls her eyes at one of the older suits, a middle-aged man with a massive mustache who is currently giving her a very intense and not-at-all subtle look.“Ugh, pitch that tent somewhere else, cub scout.”

“But we never bring them here. I thought we just wined and dined them at the corporate resort.”

“Totally new approach. apparently your girlfriend wants the clients to see us in action, not just chug free champagne until they buy our projects. This was the whole focus of that big meeting last month, were you not paying attention?” Raven suddenly smirks. “Oh, wait. That’s the meeting where you--”

“Yeah, got it.” Clarke makes a lot of furious typing noises by pounding erratically on her keyboard. “Very busy, can’t talk. Lots of data entry to do.”

Titus is swinging the tour in their direction, gesturing to their workspaces with an almost disturbing smile. “And here are some of our stars of the research team,” he says, looking directly at Clarke and Raven.

There is some kind of pleading in his eyes, an expression that reads as don’t fuck this up you absolute fuckwits. “We may be a pharmaceutical giant, but we’ve got that young and energetic startup vibe. You’ll notice Clarke here is wearing appropriate and SOP suit.”

He leans in closer to the group of suits, nodding conspiratorially. “We are very accepting of all lifestyle choices.”

Clarke balks. “Okay, while technically correct, that’s not even--”

“Just smile and wave,” Raven hisses, and the two of them do just that.

As Titus ushers them on to the other side of the room, Perving Suit hands his card to Raven.

“You should call me,” he whispers, waggling his eyebrows.

“You should call your wife,” she hisses back. “She’s unfulfilled and she’s gonna take the kids.” Needless to say, Perving Suit appears to see his own life flash before his eyes, and he hustles like an Olympic sprinter to catch up with his colleagues. 

“Whoa.” Clarke raises an eyebrow at Raven’s truly inspired conviction. “When was the last time you turned down a sugar daddy opportunity?”

“I have standards,” Raven says, disappearing back behind the divide. “They’re low, but they’re there. Speaking of sugar and opportunity, I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one in this workspace who could be exchanging sexual favors for expensive items. Some say that waste is the greatest sin of all.” By some grand coincidence, Clarke happens to come down with an extreme coughing fit at this exact moment that gives her no choice but to change the subject and stumble towards the water cooler. Upon returning from the water cooler, Clarke finds out she has been summoned to Titus` office.

“If this is some fucking diversity thing where he makes me stand there while he tells the suits how great it is that I can wear a waistcoat to work--”

Raven shrugs. “Hey, dude. Play your cards right and we could get ourselves a real fancy lawsuit up in here. I’d love to sit at home and bathe in diamonds instead of working because someone kept pointing out that you dress like a tomboy character in a 90s coming of age flick.”

“In what world do you also factor into the lawsuit?”

A sigh of exasperation. “Obviously we would pass me off as your partner, come on. I am the hottest person in this office. It’s a compliment.”

“Dr. Griffin, come in! You know my office is neutral territory.” Clarke raises an eyebrow, poking her head in the door. This is the first time the curtains have not been drawn in his glass box of an office, and she can see that the three penguins are currently sitting across from Titus, binders out.

“You needed me, boss?”

Titus makes a very dramatic show of flourishing a folder. “Make me 60 copies of this, will you?”

Clarke carefully takes the folder from his hands, the suits watching her expectantly. “Uh...”

“I’ll need them by 11.” Clarke continues to stare between the folder in her hand and the man currently sitting at Titus’s desk who is either a fleshsuit-wearing imposter or her slowly unraveling boss.

Titus gives the very important men in very expensive suits a too-wide grin, as if ready to launch what she can only imagine is a pandering comment about making copies. When he sees that Clarke has not moved yet, he frowns. “Is there a problem?”

“Uh, sir, it’s just that it’s 2016. And I thought we were kind of phasing out the whole ‘making paper copies’ thing.” She attempts the most innocent smile she can manage. “Also, I don’t know where the copier is. Do we have a photocopier?”

“Of course we do.”

“Where is it?”

“It’s...” Titus appears to be thrown by this line of questioning, and begins to laugh maniacally again, gesturing to the very expensive and very important suit men for sympathy. “Well, it’s every employees’ responsibility to know where the copier is, Dr. Griffin.”

“Right. Um, well, this looks confidential, you should probably ask your assistant to handle important things.”

Gold narrows his eyes, clearly biding his time. “Go. Find the photocopier and print these Dr. Griffin.”

“Um...” She blinks. “Where is it again?”

“It’s, you know...” Titus waves his hand slightly to the left. Clarke knows for a fact the phantom photocopier is not slightly to the left. “Over there.”

“Uh, I--”

“Dr. Griffin.”

“Okay, got it.” She makes a big deal out of tucking the folder under her arm, heading for the door. “I’ll get right on it.”

“Fantastic, thanks so much!” Titus, who is now absolutely a lizard person in a flesh suit, gives her a thumbs up. Because that is something normal humans do, and not something that a lizard person might do to imitate a human.

 “Hey, did you catch the L word yesterday? Shane and Jenny are sucha great couple.” Titus briefly checks the suits to make sure they are paying attention to this generous and obviously totally natural display of tolerance.

“Um, yeah. Sure. Okay. Bye.”

.

.

.

Okay, so, the one good thing to come out of this photocopier bullshit is that it does give Clarke at least a 30 minute break to wander the rest of the building under the guise of seeking out the non-existent copy machine. Having a file folder under your arm is a golden ticket to never being questioned, never being stopped, and no one wondering why you’ve paced through the third floor six times in the last hour. _She’s got a file folder! She must know what the fuck she’s doing, guys._ Thus it is with an unsubtle grin that she steps into the elevator, presses the highest buttons, and hums 50 Cent under her breath. And really, at that point, it’s like she was asking for it. "Welcome back to coin FM, where we play the best coin related songs." in her best dj voice. 

 

“Oh,” Lexa van der Woods says when she gets into the elevator on the fourth floor, and sees Clarke standing there, lowkey rocking the fuck out to her own version of 21 Questions.

 

“Uh,” Clarke freezes. “Hi? Hey.” Lexa steps in next to her, tablet under her arm.

 

Don’t bring up Tinder. Don’t say Stud. Don’t even think about it. Don’t say a goddamned—

 

“Late night, Dr. Griffin?”

 

_Ohfuckshit._ “Not really. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

 

“So you’re always awake after midnight on a weeknight?” Clarke shrugs, attempting to come up with an answer that does not involve the words Tinder or Stud.

“I’m more of a night person.”

“So am I. I don’t like to be idle after dark.” Lexa gives Clarke a look, and like, really. Really

“Old habit from long nights in business school, I suppose. Years later and I’m still wired for coffee after 9.”

I mean, right, if that’s how the fuck you want to interpret that statement, Lexa, sure. Lexa nods at the folder in Clarke’s hand. “Important business?”

 

“I’m actually making copies.” Lexa raises an eyebrow. “You’re kidding.”

 

“Nope. My department head wants 60 copies of this, stat.”

 

“Did you tell him he can download an app and make a pdf of it in about thirty seconds?”

 

“Yeah, I think it was more to do with the clients in his office than convenience. I know it was an ‘impress them with your power’ thing, whatever. I’d rather have a job than my dignity, trust me.” Lexa’s smile grows suddenly mischievous.

 

Clarke feels it like a punch to her ladyparts. A specific ladypart. 

 

“With your penchant for interrupting meetings with curse words, I can believe it.”

 

“Ouch,” Clarke says, grabbing her chest. She feigns injury in spite of her extreme need to grin like a teenager right now. “Too soon, Ms. Van der Woods.”

 

“Sorry for bringing it up,” Lexa says, not looking even remotely sorry.

 

“Sorry I showed up to your meeting late with Starbucks, and then said ‘fuck’ in front of the entire company.”

 

Lexa continues to smile. “We all make mistakes. I’m sorry I snapped at you the first time I met you.”

 

Clarke is thrown by this. “You...um, it’s fine.” The elevator chimes, and the doors open. Clarke realizes that she doesn’t want them to open, and that if there were to be an elevator incident that suspended the elevator doors indefinitely, causing them to spend the rest of the day inside the elevator, bonding for survival, perhaps using sex for warmth, it totes work with Beth and Tina, she would not object.

 

Lexa steps out, gives Clarke a cool little smirk over her shoulder. “Have a good afternoon, _Clarke_.”

 

And as the elevator doors close, something demonic inside of Clarke -- because that’s really the only way she can explain it -- compels her to blurt out: “Sorry about the whole Tinder thing I would never call you a stud?”

 

And through the half an inch left between the doors, Clarke can see Lexa’s expression change considerably.

 

The photocopier is in the basement.

 

Not that Clarke really processes any of what she’s doing, as she is actively cringing.

                                                       

                                                                   **xoxo**

 

 

 

To: [clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com](mailto:clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com)

From: lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com

Subject: Elevator

While I neither mind nor reject what happens in the realm of our smart devices, I’d prefer to leave that conversation outside of the workplace. I appreciate your sentiment, however. The number of messages I receive concerning that subject is a troubling figure. To return to the earlier subject, I’ve learned that you have some compelling photos. If you’d like to discuss them further, I’d like to arrange a meeting for this afternoon. It’s relatively urgent.

LWoods

.

.

.

Clarke needs to take about six to eleven laps of the third floor before she is even remotely close to handling what she has just read. When Clarke finally slams herself back into her chair, Raven inevitably appears above the partition.

“Soooooo...” Clarke catches her breath, opening up some Excel files. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know,” Raven says, playing casual. “Maybe you’re running around the the lab like a fucking lunatic? Does that sound familiar?”

“I’m stressed,” Clarke lies, pretending that these data entry files are very important and daunting.

“Did you lose a tampon in there or something? A lot of the symptoms you show seem to correlate with Toxic Shock Syndrome.”

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “Aren’t you the one who says TSS was invented to sell more tampons?”

“I am, yes, but you’re also acting completely erratic, so I’m turning to fake diseases to justify your nutso behavior. Unless,” and here, Raven’s eyes narrow and she is suddenly smiling in a very suspicious way. “You’re about to get down.”

“Dude, do not start on that shit.”

“Did I or did I not tell you that you need to go for it? Is she sexting you right now or something? Do you need to run off the lust so you don’t explode from blue clit?”

Clarke makes a face. “That’s not a thing.”

“I’ll make it a thing, trust me. Shit’s gonna be a hashtag in a few days. I can make it go boom!”

“Anyway, I’m fine. Not a big deal.” She gestures vaguely at all her opened tabs of data file. “It’s just business.”

And it very much is just business. It’s just business when Clarke emails her back, and when she gets an email in return. Completely totally utterly just business.

.

.

.

To: lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com

From: [clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com](mailto:clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com)

Subject: RE: Elevator

My afternoon is clear. Let me know what works for you.

Clarke

.

.

.

To: [clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com](mailto:clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com)

From: lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com

Subject: RE: RE: Elevator

Glad to hear it. Please report to my office at 4:30 PM.

LWoods

.

.

.

And it’s just business when she knocks on Lexa's door, and gets an offer to come in. Clarke pretends she didn't notice Lexa's secretary is on a very convenient late lunch. Lexa’s office is about what Clarke had expected, typical of an executive’s hang at a Fortune 500 giant.

Privacy, lots of glass furniture, and a wall that doubles as an interactive screen of some sort, probably to show off just what they hired an executive to brainstorm. Minus, for now, the executive. Clarke closes the door behind her, glancing around. She pretends that her entire body isn’t one pulsing nerve.

“Hello?”

“In here, Dr. Griffin.”

It turns out that Lexa’s office is, in fact, a suite. Clarke steps past the floor to ceiling windows, finds that one of the walls is a sliding door, and finds that stepping through it will lead to one of the most perplexingly incredible sights of her life.

“Shit.”

The Executive Director of MetropolisTech is waiting for her, sitting cross-legged on her glass desk, skirt discarded but black heels on. The Executive Director is also using one hand to run on the exposed skin under the undoubtedly-expensive silk blouse. 

“Do you think you could do something about this situation, Dr. Griffin?” She catches her bottom lip with her teeth. “It’s a real problem.” And Clarke Griffin, not one to typically ascend any corporate ladders, grins.

 

“Problem-solving is one of my most endorsed skills.”

 


	6. Do it again

_Well, shit._

 

Clarke wipes her mouth, acutely aware of the fact that there’s now lipstick smeared across the collar of her lab coat and possibly down her neck and in addition to the lipstick, there’s definitely...other certain substances on her person.

Fluids, even.

 

She can taste them on her tongue. She can feel the fast-drying slick of them on her fingers and knuckles. And there’s really no questioning where they came from. Shit.

 

“Dr. Griffin,” comes the voice behind her, husky and low, catching its breath, and she turns to see her executive director, still very much her executive fucking director, pointing to the silk crimson shirt at Clarke’s feet. Clarke distinctly remembers removing the shirt from Lexa and immediately latching on hardened nipples like a fucking nomad in a dessert, pushing it off and out of the way no one can really blame her, some people prefer booty or boobies, but Clarke prefers everything Lexa. She realized this eventually, around the time when she’d actually managed to get Lexa bent over the desk, buck naked, and Clarke is very much occupied with more important things.

“Uh, right. Sorry.” Clarke picks up the shirt and hands it to its owner, not without noticing that the label is something Italian and she’s, like, 99.9% sure it costs about the same as half her year’s salary.

 

She gawk at Lexa, and fuck, she’s literally standing there in next to nothing, shirt hanging open. Lexa pulls the skirt back on, takes any number of painfully...attentive...seconds to smooth it over her thigh. She looks up at Clarke, smiles that smile that makes all the blood drain back into her groin. Fuck.

 

“Thank you,” Lexa says, buttoning up her blouse. “You’ve been extremely helpful, Dr. Griffin.”

Clarke pretends like she isn’t turning bright red, rubs the back of her neck like a fucking teenage boy. “Hey, anytime.” She pulls on her own , acutely aware that she should also brush off her knees as she was on them for fifteen of the last thirty minutes.“You should let me know if you run into similar problems again.”

“Oh, I will.” Lexa nods in the direction of the door, smirking. “You’re definitely an authority on the subject.”

And okay, fine, this does make her ego inflate about  three hundred seven times its size, whatever. “Glad to see my bite holds up to my bark.”

“Your bite,” and Lexa goes a little red, bites down on her lower lip when she looks away. “Yes.”

_Oh fuck, oh shit.  OH Fuck._

Lexa walks her to the door of her front office, still smirking that totally and completely unbearably enticing smirk, and when she opens the door, shit, there’s the pool of employees milling around. Clarke’s waiting for them to all look up at her and give her eyes, but nope, they haven’t noticed. Apparently being executive director does manage to buy you some good sound-proofing in your office suite.

“Productive meeting,” Lexa says, smile back to its typical professional form. “Expect a follow-up email from me later. I think you’ll be great as a contractor.”

“I...absolutely.” And Clarke hopes she does not reek of all the desktop fucking she just gave the executive director as she walks to the elevator. _Fuck._ She slapped her face once just to be sure she`s wide awake. 

The second those elevator doors close, Clarke turns to her reflection in the mirror. “Get your shit together, Griffin. You just fucked the executive director. You just made history. Herstory. You...you’re talking to yourself in a mirror. You’re probably not okay right now but that’s okay because you just saw Alexandria van der Woods have an orgasm. You gave her that orgasm, Griff. You got all up--” The elevator doors open. Clarke attempts a coughing fit while a few execs step on, looking over cautiously. Her pep talk was interrupted when,

“Sorry,” she says. And then needs to use her hand to cover her mouth because oh wow, the beaming grin she is currently sporting. Oh, wow. Not much later, she’s replying to a client email and happens to look down at her pants. Which are black. And now have a telltale stain from just above the knee to the middle of her thigh.

“Oh, fuck, that is--”But no need to finish that sentence out loud. Because when the executive director happens to straddle your leg when you’ve got her backed up against her desk, grinding on your thigh when you’re tugging her hair back to get your mouth on that graceful-ass neck of hers, well. There’s not much else it could be.

“You going home?” Raven appears over the divide as if choreographed and Clarke almost flipped on her ass startled.

Raven lifts up her basket of trash with one hand and lights her lighter in the other. “Because I am going to start a trash fire or make something explode if I don’t leave this office immediately.”

“Don’t set your trash on fire. And no, I have some emails to answer first. You should go home before you commit a crime.”

Raven shrugs. “It’s only a crime if you’re caught.”

_Right. Right? Riiiiight??_

 

Not that what they're doing is a crime. Not that Clarke thinks she is committing a crime, per say, but more of a professional taboo. She decides she will talk to some rum and half-frozen Chinese food about it this evening.

                                                                    **xoxo**

 

 

To: [clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com](mailto:clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com)

From: [lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com](mailto:lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com)

Subject: ATTACHED: Terms of Contract

Good morning Dr. Griffin.

Attached, please find an official terms of contract in regards to our meeting yesterday. Please sign and return to me at your nearest convenience.

  1. You will report to me when summoned.
  2. You will do as you are told. If I instruct you to go harder, you will go harder. If I tell you I want deeper, then you will go deeper.
  3. You will not question or negotiate my summons, even if the location seems unorthodox.
  4. A safe word will be agreed upon at our next meeting. You will agree to this safe word and hold it in the utmost.
  5. You may make requests for meetings, but you are limited to three a week. It is within my right to turn the request down.



 

LWoods

.

.

.

Clarke gives the area around her a thorough investigation before opening and closing the document.

“Hey Rae?”

“Sup.” Raven appears above the divide, a considerable hickey on her neck peering out from under a clashing scarf.

Clarke snorts. “Eventful night?” Clarke grins.

“It was hump day yesterday. I celebrated accordingly.”

“Do you know how to edit a PDF without the Adobe suite?”

Raven nods, coming around the other side of the cubicle. “Sure, do you wanna show me the--”

“No, nope,” Clarke scrambles to close the document, immediately opening a random email instead. “It’s not a real document. Just like...a general knowledge question.”

“Um, okay?” Raven raises an eyebrow. “Are you trying to add a signature?”

“You know what? I’ll google it.”

“You’re acting shadier than a palm tree, Coconuts.”

“Too much coffee. I’ll be fine.” Clarke attempts to shrug casually, which is not casually, which becomes a jerky spastic motion that sort of moves her shoulders from side to side.

“And here they voted me Miss Panic on our team.” Raven makes a dramatic hand gesture. “First she won’t let me start a trash fire, now she’s stealing my superlatives.” She said as she plopped back to her seat to Clarke`s relief.

 

To: [lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com](mailto:lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com)

From: [clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com](mailto:clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com)

Subject: RE: ATTACHED: Terms of Contract

I couldn’t print out a copy but imagine this has my signature on the bottom. In other words, I very much agree to all the terms.

Clarke

.

.

.

So, that contract. Turns out Clarke is going to have to make fast work of that contract after all.

 

 

To: [clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com](mailto:clarke.griffin@metropolistech.com)

From: [lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com](mailto:lexa.vdwoods@metropolistech.com)

Subject: RE: RE: ATTACHED: Terms of Contract

Noted. Please note in today’s schedule that you are needed for a meeting in the fourth floor multipurpose room at noon. Thank you.

 

LWoods

.

.

.

Clarke locks the door behind her. “I can see what you meant by unorthodox locations.”

Lexa gestures around the room, perched on the edge of a table. “No windows,” she says. “And there’s never anyone in this part of the floor during lunch. Complete privacy.” Clarke grins.

“I’m pretty sure when they say multipurpose room, they don’t expect one of the purposes to be fu--”

“No quipping, Dr. Griffin.” And Lexa grabs her by the front of her shirt and tilted her jaw up to reveal the long smooth neck and without further ado sucks on her throat then laving it with her tongue.

“Fuck,” she groans, and there’s a hand at the back of her neck, pulling her down, forehead against forehead. Clarke`s body`s ready answer is her hands on the executive director`s ass, pulling her down against Clarke`s thigh and squeezing, oh she`s squeezing the gorgeous buns.

“Now, Dr. Griffin,” Lexa shudders, and then scrape`s her nails into Clarke’s scalp. “The contract, Dr. Griffin.” Her knees tighten around Clarke’s waist like the best kind of threat.

“The contract, right,” Clarke says, and pushes Lexa onto her back on the table. And she drops to her knees, knowing exactly where her mouth goes.

“You...fuck, ah ah fuck...we have a contract,”  _Clarke Clarke Clarke_

Clarke grins at the mention of her name, which she never imagined the executive director blurt out in throes of passion as she`s Dr. Griffin, in and out of the office. And in and out she did with her tongue on the executive director.

“I know,” Clarke grins up to her. “But I’m freelancing right now.” Well, fuck.

.

.

.

For the second time that week, Clarke wipes her mouth, pushes her hair back, and surveys her work. Lexa’s still sprawled out on the table, dressed but for the skirt hiked to her waist, panting softly. She lets out a long sigh, twisting her head to look at Clarke, her fist still firmly between her teeth from when she was practicing the art of being very, very quiet.

Lexa’s eyes narrow and sparkle and fuck, oh fuck, something right in front of Clarke’s pelvic bone actually starts to ache.

“You need to work on following directions,” Lexa says, sitting upright. “You came very close to breaking the contract.”

Clarke smirks, finding a chair to sprawl in. “You liked the way I almost broke it, though.”

“Mockery is not a product of a strong mind.” Lexa pulls her outfit back into place, managing to look bafflingly perfect in another minute of rearranging.

“Don’t get cocky, Dr. Griffin. There are consequences for that kind of behavior.”

“Maybe I like consequences.” And the executive director steps right over to her, adjusts Clarke’s lab coat, hands slowly tracing down the blonde`s wrinkled shirt, pausing a beat to grope her breasts nonchalantly proceeding to her destination and slips a hand down the front of Clarke’s pants.

“Fuck.”

Lexa bit her ear hard and whispered something, the sound made Clarke`s crotch flood. And then she removes her hand, licks her fingers and leaves Clarke in the fourth floor multipurpose room. Google informs Clarke that Lexa was telling her that she was wet in trigedasleng -- duh, Clarke is well-aware of how fucking aroused one gets from fucking Lexa van der Woods -- right before leaving her high and dry. Fine. If she wants to play dirty -- within the rules of her contract, of course -- then Clarke is happy to oblige.

 

 

                                                                 **xoxo**

 

Lexa walks into her inner office suite to see her brother sitting on table, piles of books and chocolate wrappers surrounding him and his laptop. Dropping all her things on the wood surface with a bang, she mocks, “Is there any reason why you are sitting on top of my desk and why are there chocolate wrappers around you? Don`t you know how to use a trash can?” Aden just grinned at her, looking up from his laptop. 

 

“Dad dropped me by,” he informs and Lexa can feel his eyes boring into her. They always do when their dad is mentioned. “He says there’s a fundraiser for the Foundation at Tondisi next week and we both need to attend.”

 

“That’s what he wanted? I had a couple of missed calls from him but couldn’t be bothered.” Lexa places a couple of files back to her desk, and then arranges the books in the shelves. It’s almost dark outside and she hasn’t had any food since lunch time.

“Lex, you can’t keep avoiding dad just because…”

“He’s not my dad and I don’t owe him anything.” She hates how defensive she sounds and even more how vulnerable she feels. She hates that yeah, maybe she owes Alexander an awful lot but it’s not like she ever asked for it. 

 

Aden raises both his hands in a placating gesture that Lexa misses, her eyes soft and adoring her brother. “Fine. But you haven`t gone to the foundation in years and it`s my first year and Nate’s gonna need your help with the fundraiser.” He babbled 

 

“If the fundraiser is next week, I’m sure it’s being organized already. Or is this a last minute thing?” She grabs a few sea salt chocolate stones and throws them into her open mouth. “I mean, I may not be the most responsible of the van der Woods siblings but I’m on top of everything that concerns my little bro. Now let`s talk about your first gala...”

 

 

 

 


	7. Got to believe in Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Take me to your heart,  
> Show me where to start,  
> Let me play the part of your first love;  
> Tell me how two people find each other  
> In a world that's full of strangers;

 

 

“Who did you have to kill?” Clarke is on Raven`s face, and then pointing to Octavia, “Who did she kill?”

 

Raven is holding up the coffee line once again, saccharine grin on her face while furiously typing with two thumbs on her mobile, face clearly reveals who she is exchanging messages, obviously sexting because she can feel Raven`s soft moan, standing, thighs pressed together.

 

To say that Raven and Anya are polar opposites is a total—bullshit, why would she date Anya Keating? “Didn`t we have a pact to toss a coin to bury or burn if we ever need to get away with murder?” She now faced a confused Octavia. Octavia obviously does not have any qualms whoever Raven chose to date, it`s not like she can control who she dates, Raven is a tough woman, she received many hard blows in life, often coming up stronger than the last blow. Besides Raven is a commitment phobic who can smell relationship hoarders ten miles away, giving her fourteen thousand excuses not to get away from relationship. She had her fair share of men and women in her life but none of them stayed for more than a few weeks. Even if Raven have her two best friends, Octavia is not blind to see the flicker of sadness in her eyes whenever they pass by couples on public display of affection, Raven would deny it until her grave, she would roll her eyes every other second saying inappropriate remarks, which would often lead them to be on a fiery exchange of insults.

 

“I voted on chopping the body to be fed to gators but you two chose burying and burning—that`s not the point Clarke.” Octavia attentively stirs her tea, if it could save her from this conversation.

 

“Dude, burning erases the DNA, besides it`s clean, not blood stains.” Raven shrugs

 

“How long have she been seeing Anya?” Clarke turns to Octavia again, dismissing Raven`s quip.

 

“You know what, at least we don`t need to set me up, I have a perfectly functioning sex life, unlike someone I know who probably have cobwebs on her vag.” Raven narrows her eyes at the blonde.

 

“I`m not really sure, but she looks happy, Clarke. Look at her.”

 

“She always look horny O, Do you understand the severity of the situation? I`m all for her happiness, but Anya? Anya Keating? We better prepare a storage full of alcohol when she leaves her.”

Clarke stands exasperated, she wished she ordered a double Americano with a dash of patience, instead of a plain pathetic latte,

“I doubt it, thanks to your lips.”

 

“What about my lips?”

 

“Well you did kiss her, Clarke.”

 

“I didn`t kiss Anya!”

 

“Moron! You kissed me, on the lips, last week. I`ve been telling you this for—years!”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Look Clarke, we made out like back in college, drunken by the way. Not that you`re not awesome or what, but anyway, we made out and then I met Lincoln, love of my life.”

 

“…”

“…”

 

“Do I have to give you the inventory of the people you made out with that found their significant others after you?” Raven takes a sip of Clarke`s latte and gagged at the taste,”is this all sugar?”

 

“Okay, way to boost my ego, not that they dumped me, oh well there`s that one guy, but… I don`t understand…?” she snatched her latte back protectively.

 

“Clarke, when you kiss them, they sort of fall to the next person they meet and find their true loves.”

“That`s ridiculous, O!”

“Wanna bet?”

“Bet what?”

“You need solid proof that you have magical lips.”

 

“Okay, my mouth is magical on its own.”

“Not in that way, idiot! You gotta make out with someone, then we`ll see if your kiss will make them find their soulmate. Are you ready?”

“Are you sure you`re not just whoring me?”

“Just a kiss Clarke, we didn`t say have wild animalistic sex with them poor souls.”

“Wait, I`m not that bad. So sex is off the table?”

“Up to you boo,”

“Who is my victim?”

“Finn…”

             

                                                                                 **xoxo**

 

Lexa and Aden arrived to their father`s house in time for dinner, she was hoping he is still not in the house so she could spend a couple of hours with her brother, but then their father`s assistant greeted them by the door, and Lexa`s guard is on.

 

“Stay for dinner Alexandria.” The van der Woods patriarch tone never really raise a question, everything is always a command.

 

Aden looked up to her, his face unclear whether he wanted for her to stay or convey that he would understand if she cannot join them. She nodded for him towards his room, maybe it`s better to spend their time alone in her apartment instead.

 

“Sir, There was a reservation with the operations management tonight, I`m afraid I cannot join you.” She gave a polite yet tight lipped response, hoping that Alexander would not push for this as it is already uncomfortable standing in front of him, what more sharing a table. It wasn`t a lie, but it wasn`t the truth.

 

“Come back this weekend for brunch, tell Indra to put it on my schedule.” And with that she was dismissed, when Alexander was out of her sight, Lexa let a heavy sigh escape her.

 

She can`t remember the last time she shared a meal with her family, they never really had a family dinner, depending on who his current wife is, he never really sat down for dinner with all of his eight children. Usually, Alexander will call on Nathaniel or Joseph if Francis is abroad on a business trip. His three sons are his pride and glory, he hammered and molded them to be like him, cunning and ruthless. Francis being the eldest always had to oversee their business abroad, thankful to get away from their father`s claws. Nate and Joey are closest to her, while estranged to their sisters, Jennifer and Louise, who both grew up with their mother abroad.

 

Lexa and Serena got close after she decided to escape their father to go to Europe, Serena was in London with her family and she moved in with them, when she got admitted to business school, Serena supported her, Nate would visit. On her twenty first birthday, Francis surprised her by bringing Nate, Joey and Aden to London where the six of them spent their summer vacation on a hired yacht passed out drunk during the day, and partying at night ( in Aden`s case, whole day access to ps4 and junk food that can feed four people). That`s when she decided to a two year long self-exploration.

 

That`s also when she met Costia Waldorf, a two week vacation became tow blissful months that turned to be two wonderful years until, Costia still wanted to travel, and she wanted to plant roots. Costia wanted to be the high light of every party in French Riviera, when Lexa wants to sit down for a cozy night staring up the star filled Mediterranean coast line. Costia hopping from one luxurious hotel after another, while Lexa wanted to take a closer look at the murals and paintings in Louvre and imbed to her memory every angle and every brush stroke of each painting. Lexa who falls in love on every single book inside the [Bibliothèque Nationale de France](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Biblioth%C3%A8que_nationale_de_France) and cries at every opera, and maybe she saw The Phantom of the Opera every other Wednesday and cries at the end of the act. She won`t admit.

 

There`s nothing more painful than watching in VIP access how your once blissful relationship crumbles, slipping from your palms like the Moroccan sand. From nights spending in Costia`s arms, she spends it less and less, until she found herself wondering what time Costia would be back. Why didn`t she bring her phone? Why is she photographed with this guy or that girl, and why is she in this party, did she mentioned this?

 

When Lexa drifted into domesticity, Costia started to drift farther away from her. Their once sweet hushes became rugged and selfish rutting, she would close her eyes for a moment after their love making only to open it to Costia hurriedly dressing up. Left alone in their bed, heart thumping wildly in her chest. Did she not want her anymore?

 

But Costia always comes back to her. Always kisses away her questions, always on her knees to take Lexa on her mouth until she breathes Costia`s name and Costia`s name alone when she comes. And Costia doesn’t stop making her come, with her mouth, her fingers, sometimes their toys. She worship Lexa`s body, nips at her neck, suck her breasts and palms them hard that Lexa groans in pain and pleasure. When Lexa is a panting mess she would turn her around, pin her on their mattress and rut and grind her sex and fucks Lexa`s ass until Lexa becomes one with the mattress and Costia gets her orgasm biting on Lexa`s shoulder blade which causes her to come yet again.

 

It doesn`t get any better, when one day Costia came back to their flat, Lexa`s dressed in tears, bags are packed. She didn`t say a word, she only moved a little to her left, giving Lexa space to exit the door.

 

 

                                                                                 **xoxo**

 

“Mr. van der Woods is here to see you, ma`am.” Lexa`s back stiffened when one of her assistants, the one manning the intercoms, came in announcing her next visitor. It took her a beat to respond, but before she was able to give any indication of her reaction, her assistant corrected himself,”Mr. Nathaniel van der Woods is here to see you, ma`am.” She nodded as the assistant ushered her brother in.

 

“Hello ugly face!” her brother rounded her table as soon as her assistant closed the door and enclosed her on a mighty bear hug. It almost caused her lungs to crash.

 

“Nate, I can’t breathe.”

 

“I missed you so much, little sis. How`s Europe? How`s Serena? And the mini Serena`s?” she was barraged by questions as soon as Nate let her go, she straightened her crisp white shirt and picked up invisible lint on her suit blazer. She discovered that her sister loved her so much she pitied Lexa and Lexa`s legs, not that she can`t walk on heels but she`s more of a boots and chucks type of girl. Hiking and her excessive travels on foot wouldn`t exactly give her the practice ease on high heels. When she finally unpacked her luggage, she discovered one contains her chic ensemble and one her actual clothes and footwear. Serena even packed her trusty leather Everett, well, their father`s leather jacket but, that was really the only thing she got from he gave her personally.

 

“So you are here for the gala? Making sure I won`t disappoint Father?”

 

“Lex, can we lay it off? The preparations are done. I`m here for you. How are you?”

“Stuck doing what your dad wants me to.”

 

“Okay, why is your bitter meter up, kid? Wanna tell your favorite brother?”

 

“Eh? Joseph was the favorite brother because he let me borrow his car. You are a selfish brat.”

 

“That`s not true, so Aden is not the favorite then? I`m surprised.”

“He`s our baby.”

“You`re my baby sis.”

“Okay really, why are you here?”

 

“As your boss—“

 

“Technically, your father is my boss.”

 

“No, actually I`m our boss now.” Nate is beaming like a boy at her.

 

“Nate, seriously? Congratulations! We have to celebrate!”

 

“Anytime anywhere sis. Anyway, as your boss, we I`m letting you know the company anniversary is in a few weeks from now so, better get ready to smooch with the big wigs. And Joseph and Francis will be there too. They will stay until the Foundation gala.”

 

“Great, now I have to deal with three more boys.”

 

“Hardly sis, speaking of boys…”

 

“Alexander, I`m gay.”

 

“So is Francis. I`m just checking.”

 

“Idiot!”

 

“So… girls, then? Anyone?”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Really? Because Anya said—“

 

 

“Anya doesn`t know anything, I’ve only been here for a month, give me a break.”

 

“Eh? You`ve been single for years, I want dirt from you.”

 

“Impossible. I`m perfect.”

 

“Of course, you learned from the best!”

 

“Yeah, from Joseph.”

 

She missed their banter, she loved the twin brothers but she always prefer Nate to Joey ever since she came out junior high. Nate picked her up after a fight got her an audience to the principal`s office because she threw her fist to the boy who tried to kiss her. After a harsh scolding, Nate drove them to get burgers and curly fries with extra mustard and caramel sundae for dessert, when they`re both overstuffed, he stood up in front of her and asked Lexa to throw him a punch. Lexa was confused, Nate took advantage of that and hit the side of her head, making sure it`s only soft blows that serves to irritate his sister. He got what he wanted when Lexa threw her a mighty punch which he quickly dodged. But Lexa is determined to hit him, she threw him punch after punch, and dodge it every time.

 

When he got Lexa to where he wanted, he tapped her wrist and slid his foot under her, sending his sister ass flat on the ground. He told her that her punches are reckless and without aim. He taught Lexa the proper stance, rooting for the hardness and swiftness of the blow enough to make the opponent stumble, followed by ducking in case the opponent retaliates, and while crouch down, kicking their legs off the ground. Nate taught her basic self-defense, and the weekend after that, he threw her a gym membership access. He also kept it from Alexander, not that their father would care to know.

 

 

                                                                                 **xoxo**

 

 

 

Clarke`s mobile chimed in a message, she quickly fished it from her back pocket, frowning at the message.

 

Unknown: Royal Astoria. 5:45

 

Clarke: Who this, new phone?

 

Unknown: Dr. Griffin, Royal Astoria, 5:45, will this be a problem?

 

Of course who else would be this infuriatingly bossy? She didn`t even give her a name.

 

Clarke: IDK, but you might be a serial killer.

Unknown: Clarke, it`s Lexa.

 

Oh.

 

 _Oh._ Of course she`s not one to pass this golden opportunity.

 

Clarke: I didn`t peg you for exhibitionist, but couldn`t we do it in a fire escape or a janitor`s closet?

 

Lexa didn`t respond to her message but by 5:30 she`s already stuffing her lab coat inside her locker and donning her favorite hoodie. She counted until it`s exactly ten seconds pass 5:45, it at least won`t make her look like she`s so eager of Lexa`s beck and call. Anyway, she was striding confidently on the hotel lobby, scanning the hotel restaurant for the lithe brunette`s figure. She hasn`t seen her in quite a few days, can`t say she missed her taste but…

.

.

.

They`re in a fancy restaurant. They`re in a fancy restaurant and Clarke don`t know whether to think about how she`s so out of place or she simply want Lexa and herself enclosed in four walls. There`s a churning in the pit of her stomach, but Lexa grabbed her hand on the table, playing soothing circles, it did the trick. The churning on her stomach gone, replaced by a different hunger. Hold on, is this a date? This isn`t a date. They can`t be on a date. No. Nope. She thinks this is her performance review. Yep, just a get to know you phase. Surely Lexa have spoken to the other team lead researchers privately. She really isn`t sure, but this… this can`t be a date.

 

She found Lexa already seated at a table in the corner, which to Clarke`s relief, she doesn`t need to feel more below Lexa, when she gets berated over her work ethics.

 

After a few minutes of talking, about work stuff of course. Lexa offered to share a triple chocolate cake, and it`s a triple chocolate cake, Clarke forgets her inner battle whether this is a date or not. It`s a fucking fancy triple chocolate cake, she can`t think pass that.

 

“So we are doing a really good job in our team. All reviews pass the board and senior partners.”

 

“I gathered. Even the paperwork is impressive.” Lexa`s lips arch in an almost smile.

 Clarke thinks her smile is sweeter than the chocolate on her lips, she smiled back, more like a full toothed grin, complete with chocolate stains on her teeth. “Oh, you know. I try”

 

  

“Can we talk about something else?”

 

Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit. This is the talk. How many talks does she need in a week? Really.

 

“Oh!” she gasps, she was almost done with the chocolate cake that Lexa didn`t even touch, did she forgot that they are sharing? “Like uh… our team`s stats? Like our goals and stuff?”

 

There was a frown on Lexa`s forehead, like she`s trying to decipher a nautical code, “What? I—wait, why do you think I asked you to meet me here?”

“Uh, you were talking to department leads in private? Like for work stuff? I`m sorry I wasn`t wearing anything formal. I swear I just forgot to iron my shirt.” Clarke almost panics.

 

Lexa`s face falls imperceptibly, “Of course, it is. Please make sure that in the future you and your team are dressed appropriately, we are a top ranking pharmaceutical company, and the management expect nothing less.”

 

A few minutes past and Lexa called for the bill. Clarke breathes a little wider, knowing that they weren`t on a date.

 

.

.

.

Clarke feels ache in her chest because it`s too early, and she hadn’t seen Lexa the past few days, so it`s really too soon to say goodnight. She summons every ounce of bravery she reserves for this kinds of daunting moments, she grabbed Lexa`s hand, Lexa allowed herself to be halted, however surprised at the sudden contact, she didn`t let it show.

 

“It`s still a little early…” the blonde trails off, hope unmistakable in her tone, Lexa found herself wanting to be the one biting the blonde`s lower lip.

 

“My room.”

 

That was all Clarke need to hear as she grabbed Lexa`s hand and lead her to the elevator. Inside though, she isn`t sure whether the tension is sexual or something else but she can feel the vibration between them.

 

Not a second pass after closing the door behind them, Lexa pushed her to the door, nipping on her neck with lips and teeth, hands excited wanders on Clarke`s body. She only stopped kissing Clarke`s neck when she lifted the hoodie but after that Lexa didn`t waste any time to take off her bra, peppering kisses on the blonde`s chest and all Clarke can do is to hold Lexa`s head to her chest.

 

When Clarke can`t wait any longer, she removed her own pants, sliding the underwear altogether and took Lexa`s hand to cup her sex. The answering moan from Lexa made her even wetter, distractedly, she pushed and led the brunette to the bed, shedding remaining clothes from their bodies.

 

They end up entangled until Clarke resumes her rightful place on top of Lexa, she takes a moment to appreciate her form, silently uttering thanks to the deities who brought this masterpiece to Earth. She wonders if she can ask Lexa if she can be her model, but she will do that some other time, there are more pressing matters under her, as the brunette cants her hips in search for connection. Clarke kisses her all the way down to her breasts, taking a nipple on her mouth and sucking it gently while her other hand cupped the other breast. Lexa`s nails digs into her scalp pulling her closer, her hips on Clarke`s stomach and oh gods she can feel how wet Lexa is.

She slithers two fingers inside Lexa’s dripping entrance and uses her thumb to keep stimulating the clitoris, her rhythm and pressure changing in an effort to understand what makes Lexa squirm. A few minutes of exploration and it’s clear Lexa prefers her thumb to draw lines instead of circles, but in the end it’s Clarke’s fingers pressing the sensitive spot inside at the same time that her thumb presses her clit just a little more vehemently that sends her toppling over the edge.

 

And here’s the thing that’s really starting to get to Clarke, and by that she means it’s actually tearing her apart, limb by limb, aching digit by aching digit: Lexa does this thing where right before she comes, she wants to be as close to Clarke as possible. Even if Clarke’s been behind her, even if she’s pinned her against the desk or the chair or the wall and it’s rough and hard and not particularly tender, Lexa will lock her arms behind Clarke’s neck, pulling her close so their cheeks are touching, so Lexa’s mouth can brush Clarke’s ear, as she whispers Clarke`s name over and over until her convulsions subsides.

 

And Clarke hears every single ragged breath, every single increasingly ecstatic moan, until those hands pull her in, dig into her skin like they’re trying to burrow there. When the body under hers finally trembles and collapses, Clarke thinks she’s never been physically closer to anyone, ever. Sure, she’s inside of her. But she’s been inside of other women and men had held her too. And no matter how deep, how intense, how...anything, it’s never been like this. She’s never felt like when they separate, she’s leaving a bit of her behind, warm and buried.

 

“That was--” But Lexa pulls out from under her. 

 

                                                                   **xoxo**

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unprepared, not checked for grammar or spelling mistakes. forgive me, i`m dying of hangover.


	8. Say you wont let go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I knew I loved you then but youd never know  
> Cuz I played it cool when I was scared of letting go  
> I knew I needed you but I never showed  
> But I wanna stay with you until we're grey and old  
> Just say u wont let go
> 
> -from pumpapumpkin
> 
> An update as requested by Peanut because she won a bet over who Negan would kill,  
> (I still think it's a fluke ya know) 
> 
> Sorry sorry sorry for not updating. Adulting is hard. 
> 
> Now, go read. And comment if you like.

“Twenty questions, I’ll start.”

Lexa refills her red cup with Clarke’s flask, raises an eyebrow. “Oh, is this a middle school sleepover now? Why, you looking to get your hair braided? I can make a mean friendship bracelet.”

“I’ll pass on the bracelets.”

“Then I`ll pass on the questions.” But Lexa still smirks, takes a sip of her drink. Clarke will take that as a yes. She’s sitting in Lexa’s executive chair in her dimly lit office, a single lamp on in the corner, late night downtown casting its glow on their faces through the floor to ceiling windows.

She realizes that this is the longest they’ve both remained completely clothed in this room, Lexa, shoes off as she sits on top of her own desk, one leg tucked under her. They’re not touching, another rarity in this space, a space they’ve marked with many, er, different types of physical contact, but something about the air is still warm with intimacy.

Warm, and new, but good.

So with that in mind, typical bleeding heart dumbass that she is: “What is it exactly that you like about me?”

Lexa runs her tongue over her teeth, and even in the dark, Clarke can see her roll her eyes. “So this is going to be that kind of twenty questions.” Clarke spreads her hands, wishes she didn’t feel slightly hurt by the fucking eye roll.

“Hey, that’s a legitimate thing to ask. Nice and straightforward. It’s a good place to start.”

Lexa snorts. “I can imagine where it’s going to end, then.”

“We’ve already been where these things end. Jesus, we’ve been there twice a week on average for the last month and a half.”

“No.” Lexa seems to be more invested in her drink, taking a long swig. “That’s something completely different.”

She must see the way Clarke’s looking at her, because she balks, looks almost guilty for a second. “It`s not,” she says.

“It’s different.”

“Fine,” Clarke takes it directly from the flask, skipping the cup this time. “I’ll ask an easier question, one that doesn’t inhabit a black hole of feelings.”

“I’d hardly call it a ‘black hole of feelings’. That’s beyond dramatic, Dr. Griffin.”

“What’s the first thing you remember? Your first memory.”

Lexa doesn’t even hesitate. “My father’s voice.”

“Wow. Do you remember what he said?”

“No.” Lexa stretches out one leg, runs her hands down her thigh, a very clear sign when Lexa lies.

Clarke is acutely, like, embarrassingly aware of this motion. “He wasn’t happy with me, though. He was telling me not to do something.” She notices Clarke noticing, smirks. “Is it my turn?”

“Yes, and there’s no repeats. No cheating with lazy questions, Boss.”

“Do you always get women drunk so you can play juvenile word games with them?”

“Is that your question?” Clarke whistles. “Damn, that is a waste of a question. Here I am, an open book of juicy secrets waiting to be revealed, and you go and ask me if--”

“What’s the worst lie you’ve ever told?”

“Shit, right for the jugular. Way to be ruthless, Boss.”

Lexa feigns innocence. “You said juicy, Dr. Griffin.”

“Fine, fine. Should have figured you’d go and up the stakes.” Clarke has to reach around in the ol’ noggin for a moment, knowing full well that all she can think about is that last week Lexa had looked into her eyes during a particularly intense moment and said: _It’s amazing what you can make me feel without it having to be real._ Which was a very convoluted way of saying ‘ _You fuck me like you love me but that’s crazy because you definitely couldn’t love me, **right**?’_

Which was all the worse because Clarke had nodded and groaned into her next movement and desperately, desperately wished that this was something she was capable of, being able to fake this level of passion and intensity instead of knowing that it came from a very specific part of her aching chest. That was the last time she’d told (or grunted, whatever) a blatant lie, and it’s still up there in things that make her lie awake in bed at night and listen to sad unrequited love songs, which she wouldn`t be caught listening to and think about her recent choices. Not much else comes to mind, except, well...

“I told someone I didn’t love them anymore, but I still did.” Lexa makes a noise as she sighs, but there’s something considerate in her expression.

“I think we’ve all told that lie.”

“Pretty bleak, I know,” Clarke says, and then pauses to think. “Favorite color?”

It doesn’t take Lexa nearly as long to answer that. “Blue. Or certain shades of blue.” Or _more like the exact hue of your eyes._

“You look good in any color. You look so good naked.” And the executive director blushes at that, score one for Clarke Smooth Griffin.

“You’re a bit biased, Dr. Griffin.” She stretches briefly, arms behind her and chest thrust forward. Of course Clarke notices, and of course Lexa notices Clarke noticing. There’s a smirk on her bright lips. “When you were a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?”

“A superhero, or a dog. Maybe a superhero dog. You?”

“I thought _No repeat and No cheating with lazy questions_. A soccer player or the president.” But she answered anyway.

Clarke snorts. “You’re pretty fucking close to getting your wish. Executive director of MetropolisTech. Executive Vice President of Trigeda International holdings, when your father retires you can be like a billionaire politician, and then become a superhero, save this city!”

Lexa chuckles, ”Did you just summarized Oliver Queen's backstory?"

“Well, with the amount of eye liner you apply, you'll just need a hood and a mask. That's pretty fucking hot! ”

Lexa kicks her in the shin. Clarke feigns pain, which Lexa seems determined to soothe. This gesture somehow evolves into a passionate makeout session when Lexa climbs to her lap, thereby interrupting twenty questions for about twenty minutes.

“Favorite food?”

“Fish Tacos.” Clarke answered without a beat

“Seriously?”

“I love me some good tacos,” Clarke shrugs, now from the floor as her back is against the desk drawers.

Lexa is leaning in to her, knees trapping her, elbow balancing on her shoulders.

“Favorite song?” she asks whilst nipping at the brunette`s jaw.

“Deception, probably.”

“Rest in peace, Christina Grimmie.” They clink red cups.

“So,” Clarke tries. “You have any significant others.”

Lexa raises an eyebrow. “Is that a question?”

“It is if I say it with a little more lift at the end of the sentence. Lemme try that again. So, you have significant others?” She puts a lot of emphasis on the question mark.

“Very politically accurate.”

“But you’re like...”

And now that eyebrow is sky high. “Does it matter if I wear a skirt or dress pants?”

“For the record, you look so fucking gorgeous in a dress or pants. But I like you naked the most”

“I see. So you are objectifying your boss, Am I just a sexual thing to you?”

“No, but you have mirrors right? I`m just saying you can wear anything and you`d still look breath taking.” Clarke shrugs. She`s going to own up her middle name. _Smooth_.

“My father would make sure that my step- mother would be in charge of what I wear during functions, when both of my sisters are married off, he would take me to these events, candy in his arms and introduce me as his seventh child. Like I don`t have a name. No identification. I retaliated when I got fed up, I knew he would send me off as a cattle for breeding in this one event, so I wore a suit, braided up my hair and kissed the first woman who fell into my arms. That is my coming out of the closet story, and I know you are going to ask so, yes I am a lesbian. Is that satisfactory?”

“Shit.” Clarke nods, feeling a bit idiotic. “Yeah, yeah it’s more than adequate. I’m sorry if that was out of line.”

“It wasn’t.” There’s still a bit of shine in Lexa’s eyes, radiating off her like a fucking wave of heat. “I know why you assumed. Most people do.”

“So uh…you seeing anyone lately.” The blonde prodded.

She narrows her eyes, smirks as she knows this is answering a long-standing question with Clarke. “In case that clears things up for you.”

“No, no. I mean, are you still actively looking?” Lexa`s face explodes into emotion, some of it a bit amused.

“You’re asking if I’m seeing other people.” Those wicked, wicked lips twist into a smile. “Is that your official question, Dr. Griffin?”

“Ugh,” Clarke covers her face with a spare, mostly drunk hand. “I don’t know,” she groans into her palm. “Whatever, forget I asked.”

“No, no,” Lexa says, downing the last contents of her red cup in an impressive unladylike swig. “According to the rules of the game, I’m required to answer.”

She looks Clarke straight in the eye. “No, I am not seeing other people. Not that we are technically seeing each other, at least not by most definitions, I’d say. Historically, nothing good happens when you fall in love. Look what happened to Humpty Dumpty, he jumped to the wall. That Trojan War, sailed thousands of ships and made gods pick sides to a mortal war, And let`s not forget Jack, as the Atlantic ocean swallows him after the ship wreck, and for what? Love is a crazy concept. Trust me.”

Clarke just stares at her, eyes alert as she discusses the disadvantages of commitment but all Clarke thought was, it`s too late. Too late because she has fallen, which is inevitable really, she has fallen in love with her boss, and she`s so out of her league. She knows she`s about to break her heart, that treacherous thing that splits and jumps inside her ribs whenever Lexa gives her secret smiles. The kind of smile that burns like summer heat on her skin, the one that`s reserved only for Clarke. And Clarke wonders, just what would those smile taste like waking up in the morning. She was brought back from her musing with a…

 “What about me?”

“Are you ‘seeing other people’?”

Now it’s Clarke’s turn to consume all the alcohol she has left. She shrugs again, this time like it’s a shrugging contest and she has to win first place or else she’ll be dragged into the streets and paraded around in her shame. “I guess not. I mean, I’m not actively looking around, but if someone were to run into me or something and there was, uh, a connection--”

“Like at a coffee shop? If someone hit on you at a coffee shop?”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Well, sure, but then if they laugh at my business card--”

“I wasn’t laughing at it. I just thought it was totally and completely laughable that my first day for a new job, one in which I am already completely underestimated as a woman, I end up running late, and then the one attractive person who hits on me happens to be off-limits because she works for MetropolisTech. Gives me her calling card, when her name is plastered in bold letter of her lab coat and with MetropolisTech logo, when she can just ask for my name like normal people would.”

“Wait, so you weren’t laughing at my technique?”

“Oh, no, using your business card to pick up women is ridiculous, but it would have worked if you weren`t wearing a lab coat with your name and company logo.”

“I would argue that it did work and that it is not ridiculous considering our current position.”

“And what position is that, Dr. Griffin?” Lexa grinds seductively on Clarke’s lap. “Is it this position?” Lexa grins.

Clarke palms Lexa’s truly perfect ass in the meantime. “I’d say it’s any position you want it to be.”

“How about the position of keeping it casual?” Lexa grinds on her harder, Clarke can feel the heat from between her thighs.

“If that position still involves me getting to do stuff like...fuck, this...then yes. That’s a very good position.”

 

3 am and they’re pulling on coats, taking the elevator through a silent, dark building. Clarke tries very hard not to keep grabbing Lexa’s ass or the front of her winter jacket, as they stand side by side. Lexa's got one of those serene knowing smiles, and Clarke's attempting not to outright grin. When they pass the night security guard, Lexa quickens her pace.

Clarke is tempted to pull her hoodie over her head but that would be probably be, uh, more conspicuous. She doesn't miss the feeling in the pit of her stomach, that this is something they should technically not be doing. That for all intents and purposes, their evening was not exactly within company standards. At least there wasn't any tacky mistletoe. Outside, it’s snowing big, gorgeous flakes. Clarke doesn’t miss the way Lexa looks up and licks a snowflake off her top lip.

“On our scale of casual, where does sharing an Uber home fall?” Lexa looks over at her, eyebrows raised. “That is, so long as you haven’t been lying, and actually live in my neighborhood.”

Lexa rolls her eyes. “I do.”

“In that penthouse of yours, right. Because you made a point of mentioning how hard you ball. Because you ball so hard.”

And now the executive director smirks. “Yes, motherfuckers want to fine me. Or at least that’s what my accountant tells me, Dr. Griffin.”

“A+ reference, Boss. Well, I am not ballin’ in my basement level apartment with one window, but it’ll just make my rags to riches story that much more compelling.” And of course the Uber pulls up to the extremely swanky end of Clarke’s neighborhood, right up to a particularly swanky building, completely opposite of where she lived. Oh shit, she has a fancy-ass doorman? Truly balling hard she looks at her and maybe Clarke’s projecting but damn if it doesn’t kind of seem like Lexa doesn’t want the night to end.

“I guess I’ll see you on Monday, then. Are you spending the holidays with your family?”

“Nope.”

Something in Lexa’s face shifts.

“It didn’t come up during twenty questions.” Clarke shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. Keeping it casual, remember? I’ll see you next week.”

Lexa seems to be waiting to say something, but she bites her lip, nods quickly, professionally. “Happy Thanksgiving, Clarke.”

She`s prepared for this, she actually googled the greeting in Trigedasleng if for to impress the brunette, And there’s a look on Lexa’s face, probably because she so rarely calls her by name in her face, probably because Lexa so rarely find other people to speak her language or at least try to learn it, anyway, and then she slides out of the backseat, closes the door behind her.

The Uber driver takes this opportunity to turn down ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas’ because really, the Halloween's passed and it's already socially acceptable to play christmas songs, he offer her a water bottle. “So you guys are doing it, huh?”

Clarke blinks. “Um.”

“Pickup at an office building at 3 am, two slightly disheveled people in holiday-themed attire, awkward goodbyes with a lot of meaningful glances? Party for two went well, I assume.”

“If this is your way of fishing for a good rating, it’s probably not gonna go well for you.”

“Listen, honey,” and at this, the driver turns around, fixing Clarke with a stare and a very serious expression. She’s wearing a Santa hat, which somehow makes this even more compelling. “Trust me when I say this comes from a lot of love and experience, from one member of the home team to another. It ain’t ever gonna be just _casual_. There’s some deep stuff there. When you look at each other the way you two just did, and say fancy words in your seasons greetings, it’s not casual.”

“I’m sorry, what does that--”

“Consider this the best advice anyone is ever gonna give you. Check yourself before you wreck yourself.”

“Did you just quote Ice Cube?”

“And I’m stealing this from Snoop Dogg by way of a feature on Dre’s track - still waters run deep. If she’s not saying anything, it’s probably because there’s a whole damn ecosystem of emotion in there.” Santa Uber shrugs, turns back to the wheel. “I’m just saying, you may be in for a world of pain if you two aren’t up front about your feelings.”

“Trust me when I say we are not in a position to do that.”

“Is she your boss or something?”

Clarke stalls, chugging her water. “I mean, it’s not, like, a direct supervision kind of thing--”

“Oh, sweet summer child. You’re doing the dirty with THE boss? Are you the secretary? No?” Santa Uber laughs. “You need more help than I alone can offer. You need to turn to a god or all gods of some kind, or Satan itself.”

“Dude, I’ll be fine.”

“Tell me right now, and answer me honestly: miss her?”

“In general?”

“Right now, since she’s left the car. Do you wish you were with her?”

Clarke pretends to have to think about this question, even though the obvious answer is fuck yes, of course, I would crawl on my knees through a sea of broken glass to watch her do her laundry, etc.

“I mean, I don’t know.”

Santa Uber slams on the breaks a little too enthusiastically. “Your pants are on fire, my friend.”

“Fine, whatever. Yes. Yes, I miss her right now.” Coincidentally, they are now outside of Clarke’s building. It turns out Clarke lives a mere twenty three blocks over from Lexa. That will be...a whole thing, she’s sure. “This has not been terribly helpful. I am not rating you five stars.”

“Oh, you will.” And Santa Uber turns to her with a particularly knowing smile. “When it’s time for you to face the truth, you will. They always do. Don’t forget your complimentary candy cane. Happy holidays, my hopeless friend.”

“I am not hopeless!” Clarke mutters to herself, taking the stairs down to her door, an actual hopeless person who is hopelessly into Alexandria van der Woods a complete and raging perfect 10.

The next morning, there’s a missed call on her phone from an unknown number, and two very insistent text messages. The first she knows exactly how to answer:

This other one however, well. Fucking hell. And yes, she does save Lexa's number as HOTSTUFF.  

 

* * *

 

 

“So, this isn’t very casual.” Lexa appears to be avoiding eye contact, instead concentrating very hard on slicing the sugar-dusted fruit that is piled on her waffle.

“What isn’t casual about a shared brunch, Clarke?”

“Uh, everything? It`s a brunch and you`re calling me Clarke!”

“I read in Cosmo that brunch was, in fact, the most casual meal that one could share with another person. _Clarke_ ”

Clarke stabs at her pancake. “I’m pretty sure it’s implied in the whole eating breakfast together that you also woke up together. And you never call me Clarke. Why are you calling me Clarke? It`s weird that you`re calling me Clarke. Like… like that. Calling me Clarke.” She`s totes not having a panic attack. She got this.

“Did you not want me to call you Clarke?”

“I mean, considering the things we do but you never once called my name or call my name or say my name.”

“And this is not breakfast. It’s brunch. And I did call you Clarke. Once. Or twice.” _While I was coming in your mouth or when I was pushing your hips harder._

Clarke snorts. “Brunch is literally just gay breakfast. That’s it.”

This appears to stump her brunch companion, who frowns into her bite of waffle. They are sitting at the table by the window, just as Lexa had promised, and Clarke had only changed her outfit six times this morning before walking the three blocks in the snow, stopping in front of the cafe to see the brunette sitting in the huge front windows, sipping her coffee.

“Fuck,” Clarke had whispered, breath pooling in front of her, knowing that she could probably spend another hour standing out in the cold, taking in the way this woman lifted a mug to her lips, observing the gentle movement of her fingers on a spoon. Which she acknowledges is probably a little creepy without context, and the context itself is what she’s trying not to actually acknowledge at all. The context is the whole damn problem.

“Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck,” she continued to whisper, forcing herself up the steps to the door, forcing all those messy goddamned feelings down to the pit of her stomach. Lexa had looked up from the table in the window, smiled at Clarke, and that was fucking it.

Donezo, goodbye, please collect your gift baskets at the exit.

Clarke was toast.

And now she is sitting here eating pancakes, which her boss. Lexa is eating a massive concoction of fruit and waffles and fancy cheese, and Clarke is attempting not to stare at what this woman considers to be weekend wear.

Chiefly, the sleek black leather jacket atop a cashmere sweater with designer jeans ripped in the knees, definitely total up to more than Clarke’s monthly rent, but who’s calculating?

Lexa looks up at Clarke, cocks her head. “What are you thinking?”

“I was thinking that it’s crazy to be this turned on by someone innocently eating waffles and fruits. I wish I was a waffle you enjoy eating so much.”

At this, Lexa’s cheeks flush red, and she occupies herself with her waffle again. “You don’t need to flatter me, Dr. Griffin.”

“I’m not flattering you, I don’t need to flatter you. From your choice in jeans, you clearly already know what you’re working with. You always know what to wear. Or that whatever you wear just impossibly fits you. Always on point. Do you ever look not good? Can you wear a potato sack? No, wait. You would still look good.”

Another blush and smile from Lexa. Two for two, Griffin, not bad at all, ya killin` this smooth.

“I have Christmas shopping to do after this,” Lexa says, matter-of-factly and somehow still loaded as all heck. “What are you doing today?”

Clarke has to try not to grin at this fairly obvious invitation. “Nothing much. Playing it casual, probably. Just doing casual stuff that casual people do.”

A wry smile from Lexa. “Sounds very interesting.”

“Oh, it is. Fascinating…stuff.”

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in doing this so-called casual stuff with someone else?”

Clarke smiles innocently. “I thought that’s what we were doing, Boss. After all, nothing says ‘casual fuckbuddies’ like holiday shopping.”

Lexa nearly chokes on her waffle. “Touché.”

So Clarke does probably the riskiest, stupidest thing she could possibly do given her current emotional situation. She spends the day with Lexa. Because what begins as Clarke very firmly saying at brunch that she’ll only walk partway into downtown with her evolves into hours upon hours of increasingly wonderful moments. And oh, how they just slay her:

Clarke getting Lexa her exact tea order, perfect even to the temperature.

Clarke’s hands getting cold, and Lexa letting her cup the drink with freezing palms while placing her own mitten covered fingers over Clarke’s.

So fucking casual, right? The women selling mistletoe from their flower stands giving Clarke a knowing wink and promising a good deal.

“Interesting sales technique,” Lexa says, leaning towards Clarke.

“Awfully forward of them.”

“You’d think they were implying something.”

“Why, do I come across as the kind of person who’s seen you naked?” An elbow to the side.

But Lexa does pause for a while at the flower stand, hand hovering over those sprigs of mistletoe, and Clarke has to hold her breath until they finally step away. Not like she needs that kind of excuse. Not that they’d need any excuse, period. But it’d be the thought behind the gesture that might really destroy her. Because it’s all so goddamned casual, of course.

But then she turns around, comes back after a moment with alstroemeria, carnations and peonies arrangement in one hand, Lexa`s tea on the other.

“Thank you,” Lexa says, and when she smiles, Clarke almost had a heart attack, if her heart isn`t in a constant heart attack that is.

Clarke remembers to breathe. ”What are you buying for your brother?”

“He had varied interests.”

“What, does he collect stamps or something?”

Lexa only lifts her eyebrows. Clarke balks. “He does collect stamps?”

“I got him a binder for them last year.” Lexa gives her a bit of a challenging smile. “He also enjoys superheroes and documentaries.”

“He’s not homeschooled or something, right?” Lexa snorts.

“No. He interacts with other children on a daily basis.”

“Hey, just checking. Those preteen years can be rough for a kid with a stamp collection.”

“When you meet him, you’ll see that he does just fine.”

 ** _Oh._** “I’ll...keep that in mind.” _Sure, because that’s just so casual, isn’t it_?

 

By the late afternoon, Clarke’s started to be seized by the impulse to grab Lexa’s hand at crosswalks, and that’s just...not...good. “I should probably head home,” she says, aware that she has nothing to do tonight except watch Pitch Perfect 2 or World War Z by herself and answer Raven’s texts about what she should wear to Octavia's family Thanksgiving party tomorrow.

“Oh,” Lexa says, and okay, she’s probably just reading into it, but there’s a little bit of disappointment in her tone. Actually, a lot of disappointment, as she’s frowning, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. “Well, it’s been very nice.”

“Very casual,” Clarke says, smirks, even though there’s a lot more there than just amusement.

Lexa raises an eyebrow, still frowning. “I didn’t see us ordering our headstones today, Dr. Griffin.”

“Yeah,” and she sighs, shrugs. “I’m sorry I keep teasing you about it.”

“It’s fine.” Lexa reaches out, takes Clarke`s hand and maybe it’s because it’s something she’s been thinking about all day but Clarke just about freezes.

“I’m sorry if this is confusing for you.”

“Confusing? For me? What could possibly be confusing about it?” Clarke attempts her most nonchalant throat-clearing. “I mean, I’m young, I like sex. I like...not having to make small talk at a weekly date night. I like not having to feel like I need to use dating app or go on actual date or whatever to get my socks off. I should be...I should think this is really great, right?”

“And do you think this is really great?”

“Yeah,” Clarke says, and it’s only a half-lie. “Sure.”

“You’re a terrible liar,” and Lexa kisses her. It’s the last thing she does before she steps back into the crowd, and leaves Clarke standing there, wondering what exactly she’s supposed to do with all of this. All of this...casual, right. Right? Right?! But there isn’t a terrible lot of time to process, because she has to spend the next day as a tradition of the past few years, which is accepting Octavia’s family semi-pity-fueled invitation to their Thanksgiving party.

 

* * *

 

 

“Okay, let me apologize ahead of time for whatever insane shit my mother says to you.” Octavia, Clarke and Raven are standing on the front step of the Blakes` family home, a massive brick McMansion in the suburbs. Raven has yet to reveal what she’s got under that pea coat, but since her personal tradition is wearing the most scandalous thing she can find in order to shock and horrify Octavia's mother, Clarke can only imagine. The Santa hat really ties it all together.

Clarke rubs at the arm of her plaid red sweater, which she had considered festive, but now might be a little frumpy. “It’s cool, whatever. I just appreciate the free food and booze, honestly.”

Raven gives her a one-over, sighs. “God, you look even gayer than last year. Here.” She hands her a bright pink Santa hat. “Put this on. It doesn’t look like you stole it from a middle-aged man, unlike the rest of your outfit, and it might distract Mama Blake from your alternative lifestyle.”

“I wore a tie the last year I came over and she still tried to convince me that Bellamy and I could date, if I wear more dresses, like Bellamy doesn`t walk out every time she mentions it .”

Octavia groans as she rings the doorbell, “Honestly, it`s been going on since fifth grade.”

The woman who opens the door beams between the two of them. “Baby! And you brought Clarke and Raven. It is so wonderful to see my two favorite girls.” She pulls them into an incredibly stifling double hug, Clarke’s cheek going directly into the ornately beaded holly berries of Aurora`s chest.

Boob job, Raven mouths, her own face pressed into the other side of Octavia`s mother. Clarke attempts her most polite smile, holding up the wine she made Raven pick out this morning. “I brought wine, Mama B.” And Raven chimed in holding a basket of Christmas pastries.

“Aren’t you just darlings?” She turns to her daughter.

“Octavia, are you doing something different with your hair?”

Octavia shrugs, huffing like a teenager. “I don’t know, mom. Probably.”

“Well, it’s certainly interesting. You always look beautiful sweetheart.”

She blinks a few times, and then returns her beaming smile to Clarke. “You gals come in here and meet the other guests. Raven, no blowing up of anything, nobody likes exploding this holiday."

“So, Clarke.” Aurora leans across the counter, smiling that classic suburban mother smile. “Octavia tells us that you haven’t found that special someone yet.”

Behind her mother, Octavia and Raven are making disgusted faces while pouring a crystal glass full of vodka for her and Raven.

Clarke shrugs. “Uh, yeah...I guess I haven’t.”

“Well, let me tell you. We have the loveliest neighbors, and their son is just the most charming--”

“Mom.” Octavia wields one of the polished cocktail forks. “Leave Clarke alone. I have told you this, like, nine billion times. She likes girls.”

“But didn`t you date that boy back in college?” her mother says, waving her hand in the air.

“Yes, but Clarke also dated girls” Octavia answer for her.

“Many girls.” Raven making hand gestures, “They did the dirty too.” Clarke looks at Raven, narrowing her eyes as she smiles.

 “But keep an open mind.”

“Keeping an open mind is how she became bisexual, mom.”

“Uh,” Clarke clears her throat. “That’s not actually how--” The doorbell rings.

“I’ll get that. You girls make yourselves comfortable. Octavia, there’s more wine in the kitchen.”

“Thank fuck,” Raven mutters, grabs Clarke and Octavia and three bottle of wines drags them towards the other room.

“I think a bottle each and we’ll be solid for dinner, right? Or do you want to do cocaine?”

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “You have cocaine?”

“I’m pretty sure I stashed some in my childhood bedroom the last holiday I had to spend here.” Octavia pauses to think. “You know what? Never mind, that’s gone. Entire bottle of wine it is!”

Clarke has been to four of these parties since becoming friends with Raven and Octavia, and they somehow continue to grow more ridiculous with each year.

Clarke’s own childhood Christmases were pretty lavish affairs, typical Family Christmas Party, but when her dad died at eighteen, they stopped having Christmas dinners, she and her mom growing distance between them. So she always goes with Raven and Octavia where there is a parody of the American suburban experience. The Blakes upper middle class childhood home is turned into room after room of overpriced holiday decorations, slightly begrudging catering staff with platters of seafood and tiny sandwiches, and alcohol. So much alcohol. Oh, and single people. Lots of single people.

Because the not-so-secret intention of Aurora`s holiday soiree is to pick out her daughter’s future husband. And, if she’s lucky, make a few other matches in the evening for Clarke and Raven as well.

Clarke’s halfway through a miniature sausage when Aurora swoops in, some poor frightened-looking young man in her vice grip. “Clarke,” she chirps, smile like a weapon. “There you are. This is David. David’s father owns stock in computers.” David waves awkwardly, as he is currently being physically shoved in her direction by Aurora’s alarmingly strong arm. Clarke attempts a smile that communicates her extreme sympathy for the situation.

“So,” David says, shuffling from one foot to the other in his chinos and desert boots. “Aurora said you are a scientist.”

“Uh, sort of, it’s more that I--”

“Hey,” Raven has suddenly appeared, sticking a vodkatini into the middle of them and giving David a glare. “She doesn’t play for your team, homeslice.”

David blinks. “Sorry?”

“She isn’t about that life. She doesn’t like sausage, she is not a sausage kind of gal.” Clarke is eating another mini sausage at this moment, which she awkwardly tucks into her pocket instead. David stares between the two of them, continuing to look confused.

“I’m really sorry. What are you trying to say?” Clarke sighs. “She’s saying that I’m--”

“Gay. The hugest. An entire soccer team worth of gay in here,” Raven says, slapping Clarke on the shoulder. “So do not waste your time. Move on to greener pastures, ya feel me?”

“Uh, sure.” David gingerly takes a few steps back, keeping his eye on Raven as if he expects her to pull a knife on him. “Thanks for the, uh...heads up.”

Raven slurps her vodkatini, giving him the evil eye. “She probably told him you were just shy around men.”

“Honestly, Rae, I really don’t care if I get hit on. I’m just here for the free food.”

Raven shakes a dramatic fist. “But it’s the principle of it. She thinks she can just shove unwilling penises at unwilling vaginas, its tyranny.” She downs the rest of her cocktail, squeezes the olive between her teeth. “This is why my therapist makes such good money.”

It isn’t ten minutes before Aurora has brought another wide-eyed dude with a topknot over to Clarke, now stuffing her face with spinach dip. “Clarke, this is Blaine.”

“She’s gaaaaaaaay!” Octavia shouts from across the room. When Clarke finds her on the other side of the crowd, Octavia lifts a glass of acknowledgement while doing a shot.

This one Aurora seems to have even more of a determined grip on, spinning him away from another conversation in order to pull him towards Clarke. “Clarke, my darling girl, you will not believe what Daniel does for a living--”

“She’s bangin’ chicks!” Raven and Octavia yells, seemingly from the other room.

“Clarke, sweetheart, let me introduce you to Thomas--”

“Massively gay irreversible homolady!” Aurora spins, unable to locate her daughter and her friend.

Clarke spots Raven and Octavia ducking under the catering staff, drinks in their hand. It’s another hour before Clarke can sneak out onto the back patio, only to discover she’s not the only one with that idea.

Bellamy is already there, in a leather jacket, shivering as he pushes his hair back. Clarke sighs. “Please tell me you have another cigarette. I will give you five dollars for a cigarette at this point.” He turns, smiles conspiratorially.

“Actually, this is not tobacco. I mean, there’s some tobacco mixed in there, but it’s a bit greener overall.”

“Oh, shit. You’re on the naughty list, Blake.”

He snorts. “If I’m going to be peddled off to the highest bidder this evening, then I’d prefer to be baked, yes.”

“I feel you.”

He lit it up, passing her the spliff. “And ‘tis the season for sharing, Griff.”

“You have no idea how much I appreciate that.” When she exhales, she knows she’s grinning.

“Oh, shit. I`ve heard it all from here. I think O and Rae are yelling about how gay you are earlier.”

He shrugs, spreads her hands. “Yep, that’s me. So gay that it needs to be announced loudly by outside parties.”

“Somehow I feel like that has not stopped Mom.”

“Oh, absolutely not. I haven’t even mentioned the fact that I’m off the market to her, but I don’t think that would keep her from trying to get a dick on me either.” She takes the spliff back, extremely grateful for the rising calm.

He raises an eyebrow. “So you’re not single?”

“I’m...” She makes a wiggling gesture with her hand. “Eh.”

“One of those, huh?”

“If we were Facebook relationship kind of people, and we are definitely not, it’d be an ‘It’s Complicated’ for sure.”

“Is she worth the complication?”

Clarke sighs. “I think so.”

“Is it a friends with benefits kind of thing?”

“More like...coworker with benefits. Or, to be perfectly honest, boss with benefits.”

He coughs, sputtering. “Dude. Dude.”

“I know. Swear to me on your life that you will never tell O and Rae!” She sighs, pushes her face into her hands as she passes the spliff back.

“When did I ever let you down?”

“You need to talk to some weed about it.”

“I thought that’s what I was doing.” Bellamy inhales, narrowing his eyes. He blows a perfect smoke ring.

“Right now, you’re just meeting the weed. Getting to know it, maybe asking about its job, its kids. But we’re gonna have a serious conversation with this kush about your fuckbuddy problems, okay?” He nods, answering his own question. “Okay.”

.

.

.

“And then she just kissed me and left me there and it’s like, okay, that’s fine, but why? Why spend the day with me and go to some cutesy-ass brunch with me if you want me to just fuck you at work when you feel like it?”

“You like her.” Bellamy leans in, lifting a finger. “You like like her.”

“Duh. This is my problem, Bell. We know that my problem is double liking her.”

“What’s this lady’s name?”

“Lexa. Alexandria”

“Like Alexander the Great, huh.” Clarke snorts.

“She’s been great in a lot of ways, which is a pleasant surprise.”

“She’s afraid of intimacy.”

“Obviously not. I have literally seen every crevice of that woman, and you wanna know the crazy part? I have yet to see a part of her that isn’t gorgeous. I’m not kidding. It’s insane.”

“Nah, not the physical kind. She doesn’t want you all up in her headspace and her heartspace and probably her homespace, too.”

“Oh.” Clarke sighs. “You’re the second person to say that to me in the last twenty-four hours, you know that?”

“Then it’s probably true.” Bellamy magically produces another spliff from his coat. “I told you that the kush would know.” One of the patio doors opens, and Raven and Octavia spills out. She literally spills out, just about landing face first in the snow. When she sees Clarke and Bellamy, she grins, recovers her wine bottle, and holds up a now-empty cocktail glass, its contents somewhere in the backyard. “Happy Thanksgiving guys,” she announces, and then drinks straight from the wine bottle.

 

 


End file.
